Ancilla
by LeanaM
Summary: Roman (non-magical) AU. When Draco Malfidus became the new Proconsul of Gallia Narbonensis, he thought he'd finally have a quiet year. He didn't think his wife would die, that he'd have to buy a new slave to take care of his son, and that this slave would bring such trouble to his home. Hermione lost all her family to the Romans and is out for revenge. (I blame Ariel Riddle.)
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:** I have no idea what this is. I take absolutely no responsibility for this. The idea came from a prompt by Ariel Riddle for the June 2016 dhrfavourites at Tumblr, and for some reason, it sparked this story. I have no idea where it will be going. It's probably going to be horribly OOC. But it's kinda fun to write, so here we go._

 _The prompt:_

 _ **Roman Dramione**_  
 _Hermione is a princess from Gaul who goes undercover as a slave when her kingdom is conquered and the royal family slaughtered. She is sold to the house of Malfoy where Procounsel Draco quickly sees there is much more to his newly acquired slave than meets the eye._

 ** _Some remarks before I start:_**

 _1\. This is a Roman era (probably) non-magical AU - at least not the magic we're used to..._

 _2\. I'm trying to be as historically accurate as I can be. The only historical fallacy I'm willingly committing is that the tribe of the Eburones was defeated and just about eradicated in 55-50 BC by Julius Caesar, and this story, in my mind, takes place in 75-76 AD. The year may become relevant, and it may not. I'm not sure yet. Anyway, the tribe lived in an area that currently spans the North-East of Belgium/South-East of the Netherlands/Western Germany._

 _3\. I Latinised some names and I am using Roman names for places._

 _Gallia Narbonensis = the South-Eastern part of France that borders the Mediterranean, also referred to as Provincia (since it had been under Roman rule for so long, the Romans literally called it 'the province', as if they had only one. Also probably the most popular area for Romans to move to, outside the Italian peninsula.)_

 _Massilia = Marseille (It's sometimes also spelled Massalia but for some reasons my fingers refuse to type this)_

 _Colonia Narbo Martius = Narbonne (Capital of Gallia Narbonensis, Narbo for short)_

 _Lutetia = Paris_

 _Augusta Treverorum = Trier (Germany)_

 _Aduatuca is a place lost in the mists of time. It never developed into a modern city, but was located somewhere in what is currently Southern Belgium._

 _4\. Money: Soldiers would get 1 Denarius a day (or the equivalent in bread). This gives you some idea of prices._

 _5\. The Roman economy depended on slavery for several hundreds of years. It was as bad then as slavery in later eras. However, educated slaves would be treated really well and were considered very valuable. They worked in all sorts of jobs, from hand labourers to scribes. It was fairly common to grant a slave freedom after a number of years of service. Either their master would grant this or they would be allowed to buy their freedom. Formally freed slaves would_ be _granted Roman Citizenship, with all the privileges that entails, except the right to hold office. This restriction is lifted for any children born from freed slaves._

 _6\. Ancilla is Latin for slave girl or servant girl._

 _And now the history lesson ends and the story begins._

 _ **Triggers:** some gore and torture and murder, possibly assault and attempted rape (it won't be glorified, it will be talked about in passing), probably almost certainly smut in later chapters_

* * *

Hermione pressed her body closer to the trunk of the massive oak tree in which she was hiding. The Roman soldiers were still looking for any of her tribe they could find. They probably wouldn't think to look up in her tree. It was too close to their camp and the branches were too high up to climb easily, but any noise or movement could betray her - and she knew she would not be spared. Not the daughter of the rebellious Eburon Chief.

The battle had been horrendous and vicious but, perhaps thankfully, short. The Romans had overpowered them in no time, and they didn't fight to take prisoners. Not this time. She'd seen her mother fall, a Roman sword thrust through her heart. She'd seen the bodies of her youngest brothers, mouths forever frozen in soundless screams of agony. She didn't remember exactly how she had managed to escape the carnage. Her hands were cold and sticky with the blood of the men she'd stabbed in pursuit of her friends, but when she saw them surrounded by enemy soldiers she'd hidden, hoping to be able to rescue them later.

She realised now there would be no later. They were all captured or dead, all of the fighters her father had gathered around him in a last desperate attempt to drive the enemies out of their ancestral territory. They had failed. The bodies of the fallen lay strewn across the forest and throughout their village, and those who had survived the massacre were bound and thrown together in a cage in the Roman camp, like animals. Her father was bound against a large pole, on display, forced to watch as his men were marched, kicked, dragged before him and whipped within an inch of their lives, begging for mercy before one of the soldiers struck and finished them off.

Hermione could distinguish the faces of all those she had fought alongside. She could distinguish the faces of the Roman soldiers who humiliated and killed her defenseless kin. She could have looked away, but she forced herself to watch. She watched in silence, refusing to let the tears cloud her eyes as she bore witness to the execution of her tribe, one after the other, men, women and children alike. She was the last of the Eburones and she would watch and honour each of them. She would see and remember.

She didn't look away when the beasts forced themselves on the women. She didn't look away when they brought her elder brothers out of the cage and tortured them. She pressed her lips together to muffle the cries that were trying to burst free when her father begged them for mercy. There was nothing she could do but watch as her family and friends were cruelly murdered by the Roman soldiers. She watched and watched and watched and vowed to remember.

The legion returned to Aduatuca two days later. Hermione hadn't stirred from her place in the oak tree in all that time. She was thirsty and hungry and stiff and exhausted, but she knew the slightest movement could have resulted in her death, and though the idea didn't scare her, she didn't want to leave this cursed earth just yet. So she'd remained still, praying to the Three-faced Mother Goddess for strength and protection, until she was sure they were gone.

She managed to half climb, half fall down the tree without breaking her legs and staggered towards the campsite. She'd been prepared for the sight that awaited her there, but her stomach still turned painfully. The Romans had left the bodies behind, discarded and desecrated, abandoned for the wood predators to feast on. She couldn't stop the tears when she found her father's body, mangled almost beyond recognition. She fell to her knees and wept and cried and cursed until she had no tears or voice left to mourn.

She buried them, all of them. She prepared the pyres and recited the burial rites a thousand times over to guide each of the souls to their new life. She buried their bones as tradition dictated. It took almost half a moon cycle to give them all the send-off they deserved, and she was shattered by the time she had buried the last, but she was not done yet. She had one more task to do to protect the memory of the fallen.

Hermione set the remains of her village on fire so there would be nothing left to plunder and no reason to defile the grounds on which so many had died. She watched the flames from a safe distance, the rage inside her swirling and churning and scorchingly hot as the fire before her. And as her home went up in flames, she vowed vengeance. Vengeance on the General who had ordered the troops to take no prisoners. Vengeance on the centurions who allowed their soldiers the sport of torture, instead of giving the warriors a dignified death. Vengeance on all the faces she would never forget for all the faces she could never forget.

She slowly took off the golden torque that her father had given her on her twelfth birthday and buried it. She was no longer Hermione, princess of the Eburones.

* * *

Draco Lucius Malfidus, newly minted Proconsul of Gallia Narbonensis, impatiently cursed at the traffic that impeded his trek to the slave market. The lecticula was uncomfortable and hot, but he couldn't travel on horseback in Massilia, it wasn't the safest of the cities under his command. It was, however, the first port they'd stopped at that would have a decent slave market and he urgently needed a new slave. His wife had died of a nasty fever only days before they were set to travel to Colonia Narbo Martius, where he would take up his post, and he needed a female slave to take care of his son. He hadn't wanted to leave the child behind, despite his parents' insistence, but the boy hadn't taken to any of the slaves in his household and had refused to even eat unless his father was there to feed him. His mother had called it most undignified when she found them eating together. And much as he loved Scorpius, Draco knew his duties would take him away from the villa too often to take care of the child himself.

He had been appointed proconsul as a reward for negotiating a new truce with the native tribes of Britannia, which was sure to bring about a calmer era for the Legatus on the isle, and less of a headache for the Emperor. Gallia Narbonensis, though by no means entirely quiet, had been under Roman rule for so long that the Celtic tribes no longer even remembered the times before, and there was no more trouble there than in Italia or even Rome itself. Draco had been looking forward to a quieter life, but in a cruel twist of fate, he was now set to start this quiet life alone, without the support and company of his wife. Draco shook his head to chase away the gloomy thoughts. She was gone, and he would miss her, but he had to concentrate on what mattered: his son and his work.

His slaves finally came to a halt, and the lecticula stopped jolting about. Draco closed his eyes in relief. He took a moment to wipe his face and rearrange his toga before stepping out of the chair. His two guards easily slipped behind him as he looked around. His nose twitched in distaste at the spectacle before him, but it was the only sign that betrayed his real feelings. He didn't like the slave markets, rows upon rows of underfed and unwashed bodies, the taste of stale sweat and despair heavy in the air. It was the underbelly of a society he was so proud to be part of, but unlike many of his peers, he refused to look the other way. He always selected his new slaves himself, priding himself on being an excellent judge of character. He gave his slaves a lot more freedom than was generally considered wise, so he needed to choose people he could depend on. He refused to brand them, gave them wages and offered them freedom after years in his service, though none had taken that freedom as an opportunity to leave him. He knew he was a lenient and kind master who provided them with food and shelter, and most of his servants knew exactly what the world outside his household looked like.

Tertius, his scribe, hurried to his side as soon as he saw his master had arrived.

"I've had a look around, Master Malfidus, and I think you may find what you are looking for among the wares of Maximus Arcanus. You can find him over there," he said, with a low bow and pointing in the direction of the furthest stage. "His slaves are in good condition, strong and well-trained."

Draco nodded at Tertius and followed the man towards the slave trader. His guards made way for him, and he could hear the whispers and exclamations as people recognised him.

His pale skin, light hair and grey eyes were as famous as his political legacy and made him stand out among his people. It sometimes irritated him that his Grandmother's Nordic blood was so strong. He focused his gaze on the slaves before him, quickly assessing and discarding them in a single glance, until his eyes lingered on a young female with wild brown hair, the skin on her arms scratched and sunburnt. He didn't know why she attracted his attention. She looked just as desolate as the others, her head bent down, shoulders slumped. The chains around her neck had cut into her skin and her wrists looked bruised, probably from more chains. Apart from that ridiculous mop of hair, she looked the same as every other woman on display. Except…

She glanced up, her eyes darting over the people who were gawking at her, and there was a flash of such hatred and disdain in her eyes, gone before Draco could really be sure it had been there. He smirked, understanding. She wasn't resigned to her fate, she wasn't submitting. She was pretending. And that was... interesting. Just as Draco managed to catch the slave trader's attention to purchase the rebellious curly haired girl, someone stepped onto the podium and grabbed her arm.

"I like her," Blasius Zabini said, trailing a finger up her arm, then grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up to him. His smile was feral, his intentions clear by the way his eyes roved over the body that was barely covered by a thin, ripped shift. She recoiled, but the chains that linked her to the slaves around her prevented her from moving too far back.

Draco suppressed a shudder. He knew what kind of man Zabini was. He'd boasted the massacre of a rebel group up in the North a few months earlier with great relish. And he knew what Zabini would do to the girl. Not the kind of behaviour he approved of, even towards slaves. He coughed delicately, attracting everyone's attention.

"Ave Tribunus Zabini, what a surprise to see you here. Last I heard you were still in Augusta Treverorum." Draco smiled at the man, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Zabini stepped back from the girl and turned towards Draco. He didn't bother smiling.

"Ave Malfidus. What brings you to Massilia?"

Draco's eyes swept over the girl with the brown curls, and she stared at Zabini with such hatred, he almost took a step back.

"I am on my way to Narbo Martius. Surely you've heard I'm the new Proconsul of the Provincia?" Draco smiled at the trader. "Master Arcanus, I am in search of a female slave to help me with my son. He is too young for a tutor but needs constant care. Which would you recommend?"

The slave owner quickly dragged two women forwards, explaining how they'd nursed children with previous families, and enumerating their many qualities. Draco wasn't really listening. His eyes kept straying to the curly haired girl and Zabini, who was now reaching out to touch her chest. He didn't even notice his hands clenching into fists.

"And what about her?" Draco interrupted the merchant, indicating the girl. Zabini's hand froze in midair.

"She's not the kind you would like to raise your son, she is headstrong and stubborn. I don't even know if she speaks our language. I picked her up somewhere near Lutetia. I cannot vouch for her behaviour or her past."

Draco nodded and looked intently at the girl. She met his eyes and studied him, then looked down again, but not before a calculating look had appeared in her eyes.

"I should like to take her and the two others to my ship, to see if my son responds to any of them. Can you bring them round to the port by the tenth hour?" His eyes flicked over at Zabini. "Undamaged, of course. I will pay 15,000 denarii upfront to keep these three aside until then. We can negotiate the full price when I make my decision."

Zabini stepped up to them.

"I want the curly haired one. I believe I came in first. Or did you want to challenge me over a common slave?" His face showed no emotion and his voice was low enough not to be overheard by the crowd, but Draco recognised it for the threat it was.

"I did not hear you make a formal offer for the girl. Or did you want to be sent to the Pictish border?" He smiled pleasantly and motioned for his scribe to make the transaction. Zabini turned around and stalked away, the crowds quickly parting to let him through. Draco suppressed a triumphant smile but caught the mixture of anger and relief in the eyes of the girl he was so fascinated with. He still didn't quite understand why he wanted to see if Scorpius would respond to her. She was everything he wasn't looking for right now. But his instincts told him not to turn away from her, and he always followed his instincts.

The trip back to the ship had been as uncomfortable as the trip to the market. Draco vowed to never use a lecticula again if he could help it. It took two slaves to carry the chair, it jolted to and fro with every step and the air inside was stuffy and hot because of the curtains shielding him from the sun. He _much_ preferred to ride on horseback.

Scorpius was fussy and moody on his return. His servants told him the boy had been crying since he'd left, and no matter how often they tried, he refused to eat or move or speak without his father. Draco knew the child was suffering from the sudden loss of his mother, but he was reaching the end of his patience. At barely three years old, his son had a temper to rival Neptune, and dealing with that was exhausting. He managed to keep the boy quiet, letting him play at his feet while he met with the Prefects of Massilia and Arelate. He didn't like the men, and didn't really want his son near them, but they were old friends of his father's, so he showed them the proper respect and, after relaying the latest news from Rome, sat back and listened to their grievances and gossip.

He was glad to see the back of them after long discussions of taxes and security and army provisions. He'd barely had the time to take some refreshments when Tertius entered his chambers.

"The new slaves have arrived, Master. Would you like to see them here or on deck?"

Draco considered the question. He would prefer them to meet Scorpius in private, but to bring all three slaves and their merchant into the small room he was occupying at the moment would be too much for the child.

"I will meet them on deck. I will be up in a moment. Send Flavia down to watch Scorpius while I'm up there."

Tertius bowed and left the room again, his footsteps on the wooden floorboards fading out quickly.

Flavia entered the room soon after. She had been Astoria's maid and was the only one who could, occasionally, calm his son down when he wasn't around.

"I would like you to watch Scorpius while I meet with the slaves. I'm hoping one of them will suit my son and relieve us all from his care. You will stay in the room with him while I send in the slaves one by one. I will wait outside. I will ask them to feed Scorpius, and play with him, and we'll see what happens."

Flavia nodded and busied herself with her charge. He was antsy from being cooped up in the small room for so long, and even more so because he sensed his father was leaving him behind. The wailing started before Draco had even closed the curtains.

* * *

Hermione shifted her weight left and right, trying to find her balance on the ship. It was so strange to walk on a surface that was never really still. The sea looked glorious and big and beautifully blue. She had never seen anything like it. Her eyes followed the seagulls in flight, then darted to the other ships in the harbour and then back to the quay where the activity never seemed to cease.

She didn't quite understand why this strange, pale man had asked her to come. She had made no effort to get into his good graces, and she was, in fact, quite put out that Zabini had not been able to purchase her. She had no illusions about what he had wanted, but he would not have survived even a night, and she would not have been found out. The others never knew what hit them either. A satisfied smile crept onto her face, but she suppressed it quickly when the pale man came up to them. She felt rather than saw his gaze linger on her, and had to stop herself from squirming. It wouldn't do to show him how uncomfortable he made her feel.

She stared at her feet, and listened intently as the men talked among themselves. Her eyes widened when she heard his name. Malfidus. The name sent a spark through her body that ignited every fibre. Malfidus. She had been looking for him. She had been looking for him since Aduatuca.

It had taken her days to figure out who had ordered the troops to her homeland. She had easily blended in with the other skivvies in the camp and listened quietly until she'd heard enough: Zabini had been the one to bring the orders from the General, and the dux himself was named Malfidus. He was the one who had given the order to kill all the rebels and their families. Once she knew that, she proceeded with the first part of her plan.

She'd poisoned the centurions who had urged their soldiers to torture her family and several of the soldiers who had participated in the cruel slaughter of the prisoners. It was so easy to mix a couple of bad mushrooms into the soup and drop some nightshade berries into certain soldiers' plates. For Alderic. For Weland. For Gundahar. For Father. She smiled and smiled as she dished out the stew and added the berries and watched them walk to their deaths. She knew many of them hadn't survived. It had eased the anger and the constant pressure she felt on her chest.

Hermione bit her lip. Poisoning the soldiers had been child's play. But she couldn't avenge her family unless she struck the ones responsible. Zabini and Malfidus. She'd recognised Zabini that morning, and though she couldn't keep the loathing from her face when seeing him, she had been excited at the chance to finally exact revenge on him. Of course she knew what he had wanted from her, but she couldn't bring herself to care, not really. Not when it would bring her a chance to kill him. And he wouldn't have survived the night… She'd been peeved when the pale man asked for her to be brought to his ship. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny and didn't want him to step in, to get so close… until now. Now she knew who he was, she could only thank the Goddess for looking out for her.

One of the other slave women was taken away by Malfidus, and Hermione lifted her head again to gaze out over the sea. It really was wondrous. All that water, as far as the eye could see, and further.

"What do you think he's doing with Alia?"

Hermione blinked and turned towards the woman next to her. She thought her name was Tulla. She never bothered to learn the other slaves' names. It didn't do to become attached to any of them, as they all left eventually.

"We're here to see if we can take care of his son, so I assume he's taken her to meet the boy."

Tulla shook her head and stared past Hermione.

"Then why aren't we all there to meet the child? No, I fear he wants something else from us. Maybe he's trying… Many men bed their slaves, especially if they no longer have a wife."

Hermione looked away again.

"I don't believe it. He doesn't seem the type. He specifically requested we be presented to him unharmed, remember?"

Tulla opened her mouth to respond but Hermione took her hand and squeezed.

"Please don't. It's bad enough, the situation we're in, and we both know what can happen. But there's no need to say it out loud, not now. I just want to see the sea and feel the sun, and not feel so damned stuck, just for a moment. It doesn't matter whether he's a good master or a bad one, if he becomes your master, you will obey. There's no choice. There's nothing we can do."

A moment later she let go of Tulla as Alia was brought back to the deck, looking shaken and distressed. Malfidus beckoned for Tulla, and Hermione stepped closer to the other woman. She didn't like to admit that the sight of her had made her feel uneasy.

"What happened?" she whispered.

Alia shuddered and pressed her hands to her head.

"That child just keeps screaming… He's impossible! I tried everything and he just threw his food at me and bit me and he cried so loudly the Master came running into the room. I was sure he was going to punish me for hurting the boy, even though I hardly touched him, but he only sighed and took me outside again. I don't know what's wrong with the child. I don't know what I did wrong! I've never had something like this happen."

"I'm sure it's nothing you did," Hermione said, trying to soothe her, though she wasn't entirely sure what had made the woman so upset.

"But what if he doesn't choose me?" Alia whispered fiercely.

"Did you want him to?"

"Of course. I know his reputation, he treats his slaves and servants very well, you couldn't find a better place!"

Hermione blinked in confusion. That wasn't what she'd heard at the campsite. General Malfidus was rumoured to be a cruel and vicious man in his private life as much as in public. Hadn't he flogged a slave to death?

But before she could ask Alia, Malfidus returned with Tulla and handed her back to Arcanus. He motioned for Hermione to follow him. She suppressed the urge to disobey - it would only earn her more whip lashes once they got back to Arcanus' house. He smirked at her as if he could see her reluctance, and lead her below deck.

"My son is in this room with one of my slaves. I want you to go in and try to get him to eat something," Malfidus said in a low voice. Hermione nodded and walked up to the curtain, her fingers brushing the rough fabric, but then she turned around again.

"Why did you stop the other man from buying me?"

The man sucked in a surprised breath, opened his mouth to answer, but then paused. He tilted his head to the side and studied her. "Did you want to become Zabini's property?"

Hermione shrugged. "I find that my wants no longer matter. I am more curious about your motivations."

"He would have raped you. Repeatedly. It is the only reason he ever buys a female slave. They never last long. Is that the kind of life you want? The kind of death?"

She looked away from the piercing grey eyes that seemed to read her as easily as a scroll.

"Is that not the kind of life I am destined for?"

The man shook his head. "Not if you enter my household, and I'm sure there are many other families that would treat you well."

"What if I do not want to enter your household?" Hermione asked, knowing she was pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable but doing it anyway. He only laughed.

"Weren't you the one who just said that your desires no longer matter?" He paused, the smile fading from his lips. "If you refuse, I will not force you. But don't be a fool, ancilla." He saw the flash of anger in her eyes at the pet name but ignored it. He motioned for her to step into the room. "You don't even know yet if you will be in a position to be asked, let alone to refuse."

Hermione took a deep breath and thrust her chin out defiantly. Then, with a ramrod straight back, she walked into the room.

Three beautifully carved bench were placed along the three sides of a small, square table. A woman was sat on the floor next to one of them, and on it sat a small boy, playing with little wooden horses. He lifted his head as she came in, stopped speaking mid-sentence and stared at her. Hermione stared back. Then he opened his mouth and started wailing. By the way the other woman flinched, it hadn't been the first time he'd done that.

Hermione didn't move, her sharp eyes taking in the way the boy kept glancing at her, then at the slave next to him, then at the curtain behind her, as if hoping his father would run into the room again. It reminded her of the way her brother Ninian had behaved right after the baby was born. The memory pierced her heart and she flinched, shaken by the force of it. But then she quickly pushed those memories away and looked at the boy before her again. She could always cry later, at night, when nobody could see her tears.

She sat down on the other side of the bench. His cries faltered when she didn't seem shaken and didn't start fussing over him.

"I don't like you. Go away," he said, trying to sound imperious between sniffles.

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "I don't like you either. Why don't you go away?"

He seemed to consider that. "But you are a slave and you have to like me." There was a faint tinge of wonder to his tone.

"Not really," Hermione said. The boy's mouth dropped open and he stared at her with wide eyes. She reached out and took an apple from the little table. She meant to bite into it, but the boy pounced on her and grabbed her hand.

"You don't eat, that is mine!"

"But you weren't eating, you were crying. So why shouldn't I eat? I'm hungry."

The boy was quiet while he thought about that. His brows knotted and his eyes darted between the apple in her hand and her mouth.

"I want apple. So give me."

Hermione carefully freed her hand from his grasp, took a knife and cut the apple into smaller pieces. By the time his father entered the room, he had eaten half of them.

"It seems that you will be given the choice after all, ancilla. What will it be? My service or back to Arcanus?"

Hermione looked at him. She thought of her family, the tortured cries of her brothers and father, the broken bodies of the little ones, the blade through her mother's heart, and the man who had given the orders. Her smile was more feral than reassuring, but if Malfidus noticed, he didn't even blink.

"I accept, of course," she murmured, with a submissive bow of the head that hid the hatred and pain in her eyes.

Malfidus smirked at her. "I expected no less. Flavia, please prepare a fresh shift for the girl. I want you to take her to the Baths as soon as she is collared, Tertius will accompany you. She needs to be cleaned thoroughly, and we cannot wait. The ship sails tomorrow."

Hermione was taken back to the deck, where Malfidus started haggling with Arcanus and eventually settled her price on 25,000 denarii. She swallowed uncomfortably when she heard that. It was more than she'd thought she would be worth. Arcanus left the ship with the two other slaves as soon as the transaction was made, and Malfidus turned to her, an uncomfortable look on his face.

"I don't brand my slaves because I promise them freedom. I know there is no freedom to be found with a brand. But you will wear a collar with the crest of the House of Malfoy. It will be fused around your neck so you cannot take it off at any time."

Hermione saw the scribe hand something to his - their - master. It was a fine iron collar with a tag. Then the scribe placed a bucket with hot coals and rod with a white-hot end next to him.

"Don't move, ancilla," Malfidus murmured as he placed the collar around her neck and carefully pressed the ends together. The scribe melded them with the iron rod. The heat was uncomfortable, but Hermione didn't move. She closed her eyes, half in fear of the hot iron, half in mortification. She didn't notice that the ends were cooled down with sea water immediately and that the collar was adjusted so that the tag rested on her collarbone.

She felt a familiar weight settle around her neck, and for the first time since she left her village, she felt a single tear run down her cheeks. Her torque had marked her as a noblewoman and princess among her people. This collar made her the property of the man who had robbed her of her family. She hadn't thought that humiliation could be so complete.

* * *

 _Any mistakes, please PM. Always happy to hear your thoughts so please review. Unless you have nothing nice to say, then please just move on to another story and don't ruin my day._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for all your reviews and follows! I'm sorry I haven't responded to them, but I've had a lot going on. Please know every single one of them warms my heart and encourages me to write more and I deeply appreciate you taking the time to let me know how much you liked the start of this story, baffled though I am at the response. Now I feel the pressure... Oh dear. But in a good way :) I really, really don't have an update schedule for this one but I promise I'm still working on it._

 _Ariel Riddle has redeemed herself for planting this plunnie into my head by making the most amazing aesthetic for the story, which I have posted on ladyleanam. tumblr .com - please go have a look because it's just gorgeous and I completely fell in love with it._

 _If the violence of the first chapter didn't quite convince you yet, this story is slowly earning its M-rating here with a little smut._

 _Shall I start every chapter with a bit of a history lesson? It'll probably help you understand the background a bit better, and the Roman era happens to be one of my favourites so I love rediscovering all these details and sharing them with you. If you're not interested, feel free to skip!_

Remiges _(sg. '_ remex _') are the rowers in the Roman ships. The Roman navy didn't rely on slaves to man the oars, they used free men, or rather, soldiers. A navy ship's crew was organised much like a military unit on land. Draco, being the new Proconsul and thus representative of the Roman Emperor, would be taken to his new post in a military ship. Those ships are fascinating, you really should look them up._

 _The Romans had an extensive network of fast roads connecting all of their conquered lands to Rome (hence the saying all roads lead to Rome, this was once almost literally true, and every milestone would say how far from Rome you were, even in Britain or the far corners of Spain). The_ Via Domitia _was the first Roman road built in Gaul. It ran from Italy to_ Hispania _(Iberian peninsula) through_ Gallia Narbonensi _s (South-Eastern France). The_ Via Aquitania _went from_ Narbo _(nne) to the Atlantic Ocean via_ Tolosa _(Toulouse) and_ Burdigala _(Bordeaux). The_ Via Agrippa _went North from_ Arelate _(Arles) to_ Vienna _(This isn't Vienna, Austria but the French city Vienne) and_ Lugdunum _(Lyon) and further on._ _I found this brilliant website where you can calculate how long it took to travel in those days, just amazing what you can find on the great interweb. Have a look at orbis. stanford .edu. (remove spaces)_

 _The Romans generally had three meals a day, a breakfast mostly consisting of a kind of porridge and possibly bread or wheat pancakes (_ ientaculum _), a light midday meal_ _(_ prandium _)_ _, usually leftovers from the previous day's evening meal,_ _and the main meal of the day in the evening (cena)._

 _Bathing was very important for Romans and those who could afford it would do it once a day. Public Roman baths would not just be bathing facilities but function also as a gym with an exercise area (_ palaestra _) and even a swimming pool. The bathing ritual consisted of getting into the warm bath (_ tepidarium _) first, then go into the hot tub (_ caldarium _) and then going back via the tepidarium and ending in the cold bath (_ frigidarium _). I'm taking some liberty in this story suggesting that the Proconsular Palace had its own - modest - bathing rooms. Given that the Romans had running water and central heating, it's not too far-fetched to think that the house of the most important Roman in that area would have these luxuries._

 _I think that's all for this chapter? Let me know if I mention anything else that needs a bit more explanation._

 _On with the story!_

* * *

When Hermione woke up the next morning, the ship had already left the port of Massilia - something she only noticed when she tried to stand up and immediately fell back on her knees. She felt her stomach turn and her mouth grow numb and pressed her forehead to the floor in an attempt to stave off the nausea. Flavia, who had come down to wake her, saw how ill she was and persuaded her to come on deck, where the fresh air and sea breeze helped her stomach calm down a little. But when she was handed a bowl of watery porridge, her stomach turned again and she only just made it to the side of the ship in time to throw up on the waves and oars.

She had never felt so sick in her life. Everything danced around her, she couldn't even stand, and though her stomach was now most decidedly empty, it didn't stop the nausea and cramps. She closed her eyes, sat down and leaned her head against the railing, trying not to feel the rocking movement of the ship, hoping the trip would be over soon. She didn't dare ask how long it would be until the next port. The steady drums that set the pace for the _remiges_ quickly lulled her into a state of half-sleep.

* * *

Draco was watching his newest slave with concern. If she was going to react to sea travel like this all the time, he'd have to consider sending her back to Rome by road when his term as Proconsul ended. That wouldn't be nearly as comfortable as the sea journey, twice as dangerous and it took almost three times as long. But if the poor girl would be sick for seven days…

Scorpius stood next to him, chattering excitedly and pointing out the coast line they could just about still distinguish until he noticed the new slave girl, and he abruptly stopped and stared at the figure leaning against the railing. His face turned into a frown.

"Father, what is wrong with her?"

Draco glanced at his son and then back at the girl. She looked positively _green_. He'd never seen anything like it.

"Not everyone travels well on a ship, Scorpius. I think the waves are making her sick."

Scorpius watched in silence as the slave accepted some water from Flavia, which she promptly threw up again.

"Is she going to leave us like Mother did?"

Draco's head snapped back to his son, his eyes widening at the question. The boy's hunched shoulders and drooping head made his heart ache. He quickly threw an arm around him and drew him closer in a comforting hug.

"No, Scorpius. She will be fine once we are in Narbo, I promise," he said quietly. Scorpius nodded against him and watched as the girl closed her eyes and just sat there.

"Can we help her?"

Draco had never seen Scorpius take an interest in anyone except his own family and he wasn't sure whether to be happy his son felt such a connection to the slave who was going to spend the most time with him in the following years or worried that the connection had formed so quickly. He decided to think it over later.

"Go ask Tertius for some mint leaves. Chewing on them might help her stomach settle."

And before he'd even finished speaking, Scorpius had jumped down from the platform and run up to Tertius, who obligingly procured the mint leaves from the cook's storage. Draco fully expected his son to come back to him with the mint, but the boy continued to surprise him. He walked up to the slave and handed her the mint sprigs. Draco saw a pained smile appear on her face before she put some in her mouth. And then Scorpius sat down next to her and started talking. Draco only just refrained from letting his mouth drop open in astonishment.

* * *

A tiny, sticky hand touched her arm, and she opened her eyes to see the little blond boy standing in front of her. She forced a smile.

"Father says this helps," the boy said, thrusting out a hand holding bruised mint leaves towards her. The sharp scent was soothing already. She accepted the offering, wondering vaguely what to do with it. Scorpius smiled brightly at her.

"You eat it but not swallow." He looked at her expectantly, and when she'd complied and put some of the leaves in her mouth, he plopped down next to her, one hand still on her arm, and started talking. She couldn't concentrate enough to really understand what he said, as she wasn't used to his rapid flood of words in the Roman language, but the sound of it distracted her from her discomfort, and she soon started feeling a little better. She wasn't sure if it was the mint, the boy or just getting used to the movement sea, but by the time the sun had travelled high in the sky and _prandium_ was served, she almost felt herself again.

* * *

She accepted some watery soup and ignored the scornful looks she received from some of the other slaves. Flavia sat with her and glared back at them.

"Don't mind them, girl. They are quite used to travelling by now, and have forgotten what it was like for them the first time on a boat," she said gently when she noticed Hermione's discomfort.

"Is that all it is?"

Flavia glanced at her, the sharp eyes taking in trembling hands, a white face and shrewd amber eyes. She shrugged.

"As in any household, they are apprehensive about strangers. You'll need to earn your place among them yourself."

Hermione tilted her head and bit her lip as she mulled that over. Then she took another sip of the gruel.

"I wouldn't know how. I was never a slave before. I have no idea what to expect or what to do."

"I'm sorry you lost your freedom," Flavia said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Hermione looked away, muttering, "I lost much more than that."

Though she was very curious about the new slave, Flavia decided not to ask questions just yet.

"You could have ended in a worse family. The master is generous to us. Your duties won't be too taxing, mostly taking care of the child. He can be a handful, but, in general, he's quite sweet. It's become worse these last weeks, ever since his mother fell ill. He doesn't quite understand, you see, and he throws a fit every time the Master leaves him to tend to his business. The Mistress' cousin was just the same when they were young and her mother died. His father wasn't quite so understanding."

Hermione set her bowl down on the deck, deciding she had eaten about as much as her stomach could take, wrapped her arms around her legs and let her head rest on her knees.

"You've been with the family long?" she asked when the silence had become unbearable.

Flavia watched the other slaves scurry around, tending to the Master and his son, and smiled softly.

"I was Mistress Astoria's slave since she was a young girl. I came with her when she married Master Draco. He offered me my freedom when she died but I begged him to keep me on." She noticed Hermione's incredulous face and laughed.

"You're naive if you think being free is better than being a slave in a good household. Where would I go? What would I do? I have no family left, and what little money the Master had offered me wouldn't last me for my lifetime. I'm an old woman, nobody would want to employ me, not even the brothels. I'd end up poor and hungry and homeless. No, I am much better off here, where I am protected by my Master. He asked me to take over the care of the child, which I can do while travelling, but once we are settled in the house… I am too old to run after him all day. That's why he bought you."

They both glanced at the boy, who was now leaning against his father's shoulder, yawning. Flavia got up and extended a hand to Hermione.

"Come on, girl, the boy should nap for a bit now. I'll show you our little sleep ritual. You can take some rest, too, while we're below deck, you look like you need it."

Hermione took the hand and allowed the woman to drag her to her feet. She almost stumbled but a firm grip on her arm prevented it, and she soon found her balance. The sea was a little calmer than it had been in the morning.

"Hermione," she said.

Flavia smiled at her, a little uncertainly. "What?"

"You keep calling me girl. My name is Hermione."

The older woman studied her with interest.

"That is a Greek name, isn't it? I thought you were Gallic. You don't sound Greek."

Hermione shrugged.

"I believe it was the name of the daughter of one of the foreign tradespeople who visited our village. My father liked the sound of it, and the trade had been very successful, so that's why he chose this name," she explained.

Flavia started walking towards the platform where the Master and his son had just finished their meals.

"That's lovely. Come along, then, Hermione. Let's put the little monster to bed for a few hours."

Neither of them noticed the way the Master's eyes lingered on the young slave girl as they took Scorpius to his cabin.

* * *

They arrived at the port of Narbo around noon the following day. Draco was quite happy to finally leave the confines of the ship. Being in such close proximity with the new slave girl did things to his senses he wasn't sure he wanted to explore. The slaves had left as soon as the ship had docked, carted off to his new villa with his trunks, but Draco had remained on board while his messenger went to announce his arrival. He was waiting for the Narbo legion to send an escort for his grand entry into the city. And though he should be studying the scrolls with information about the Provincia, his mind kept wandering to the new slave girl.

She had been a constant distraction, even just her presence had drawn his attention. He couldn't help but notice everything about her - her graceful gestures, secret smiles that didn't reach her eyes, the strange yet enticing way in which she spoke Latin… Everything drew his attention away from his work. She hadn't suffered from nausea after that morning and had regained some respect among the other slaves by subduing another one of Scorpius' temper tantrums. Draco had managed to suppress a smile at her clever responses to his son's manipulations. He knew then that he'd made the right decision for Scorpius. She clearly had some experience with young children. But he wasn't sure if it had been such a good decision for himself. Last night, when she'd fallen asleep in the corner of Scorpius' cabin, he'd stopped in the doorway and stared at her for Jupiter knows how long. She'd looked different when she was sleeping. Happier. And he didn't like knowing he'd noticed that.

* * *

His discomfort did not disappear over the following weeks. Though his hours were filled with the official government business of the Provincia, the new slave seemed to find her way into his thoughts at the most inopportune of times. She attended to the meals he shared with his son, though she focused solely on Scorpius and never spared him even a glance. She was always in Scorpius' _cubiculum_ when he went to say goodnight, demurely looking at the floor until he was gone, and he could sometimes hear her sing to Scorpius in a language he didn't recognise. She had a beautiful voice. It haunted his dreams and made him wake up in damp, soiled clothes. It was becoming quite embarrassing.

Scorpius had taken to her very quickly, and it had made the transition to their new lives easier than he'd feared. Draco looked out over the gardens of the Proconsular palace, his eyes following his son and the girl as they ran around, laughing and screaming. Her smile lit up her whole face, and he wondered that he had never noticed that before. Then, like a blow to the _solar plexus_ , he realised she never did laugh at him. He turned away again. He would leave soon, he had to meet with the Prefects of Tolosa and Vienna Allobrogium to discuss trade and safety issues along the Via Aquitania and the Via Agrippa. He knew he would be gone for about a month altogether, and he wasn't looking forward to telling his son…

* * *

When Hermione had first arrived at the Proconsul's palace, she had been overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. It was huge, almost a small village onto itself. It took her days before she could find her way from the servants' quarter to Scorpius' _cubiculum_ without getting lost. She and Scorpius enjoyed exploring the gardens with their many herbs and home-grown vegetables, figuring out new stories to explain the strange mosaics in the atrium and jumping into the _impluvium_ to catch tiny fish. She didn't tell him she was looking for poisons, learning the schedule of the guards and figuring out ways to escape. She was, after all, still determined to avenge her family. But when she realised not only that Malfidus had a taster, but also that Scorpius more often than not shared his father's meals, she knew poison would not be the way to go.

It scared her that she had started to care for the boy and could not bring herself to hurt him. She knew she wasn't meant to care, she knew she should hate this child and his father and the humiliating situation she was in, but she found that she just couldn't. Scorpius so clearly adored her, and she couldn't help but return the feeling. She would tell herself to remember her brothers, so brutally killed, and feel the flame of anger and grief burn again, only to be forgotten when she looked into those trusting grey eyes alight with mischief.

The palace had its own bathing rooms, and Scorpius was very fond of the warm water pool. Since the first bursts of winter cold had come upon them, they couldn't play outside as much as they had in the first few weeks of lingering summer warmth. At first, she had let him play in the _tepidarium_ alone, but when he'd slipped off the sitting edge and nearly drowned, she knew she had to get in the water with him. That wasn't much of a burden, of course, she loved the way the heated pool seemed to warm her to the bones.

After another afternoon spent in the baths until their fingers wrinkled, she hauled her protesting charge out of the water, dried him off and dressed him in a fresh tunica. He was gone the moment his sandals were back on his feet, and she had barely had time to start drying herself when Malfidus entered the rooms. She stood up immediately and bowed her head, and when she looked up again, she could see his eyes had widened and darkened as he stared at her in silence. She was wearing her shift, but it clung to her wet body and left nothing to the imagination. He licked his lips and she took an involuntary step backwards, wrapping her arms protectively around her body. That seemed to snap him out of whatever thoughts had consumed him, and he turned around abruptly.

"I'll come back later," he said, before leaving again. Hermione had never dried and dressed so quickly in her life.

* * *

When Draco returned to the baths a short while later, they were empty, and he quickly divested himself of his toga and tunica. He sunk into the tepidarium and tried to relax, but he couldn't get his mind to calm down. He closed his eyes and instantly saw her again, some of her wild curls escaping her braid, those glorious amber eyes staring at him, her mouth open in shock, the swell of her breasts under the wet shift, her pointy, dark nipples and a patch of dark curls lower down between her legs clearly visible through the nearly transparent cloth… He felt himself harden and groaned in a mix of frustration and lust. His hand moved up and down his cock almost of its own accord. He tried to imagine what she would look like with her hair all loose, a smile on her face, just for him, her hand reaching out and stroking him, first hesitant and gentle, then more confident, her lips closing around the head of his cock…

He came with a shout, his back arching and his hips lifting off his seat. He let himself drift under and held his breath until his lungs burst. When he came up again, he cursed loudly. Yes, it was time for him to leave and get her out of his system.

* * *

 _Please let me know what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Apologies for the long wait, I've been struggling a little with this and the next chapter, but I think this will tide you over for a bit?_

 _It seems the historical tidbits are quite well-received so I'll continue to do them. And when someone asks you what you're doing and you don't want to admit to reading fanfiction, you can tell them you're reading up on the geo-political and cultural realities of life under the Roman Emperor Vespasian in the first century. In order to make this at least a half-truth, I'll tell you some more about religion in Roman times :) Feel free to skip to the story but please do heed the warning._

 _A haruspex is a type of priest who reads divine messages in an animal's entrails. Such fun. They wore special robes and a strange kind of tubular hat to mark them out from the other priests at a temple. At least that's what they told me at the Roman Baths in Bath (if you ever get there, do visit, it's gorgeous, especially on a summer night)._

 _Sacrifices and worshipping happened outside the temple buildings - there would be altars and such on the temple courtyard. Very few people entered the cella or shrine where the likeness of a God/ess (or the Emperor, as the case may be) would be kept and where priests and temple slaves would bring the offerings. Any rituals would take place on the porticus - that's the part in front of the cella which is surrounded by pillars, usually topped by a triangular pediment (this is probably exactly what you're imagining when I say Roman temple). People would gather in the courtyard and celebrate and watch the rituals from there. The porticus was usually on a fairly high flight of stairs. These buildings were meant to impress, so they were very high and very elaborately decorated._

 _'Corculus' means little heart and I'm using it as a term of endearment here._

 _I will be using Latin names for any Roman gods that may be mentioned. Also because I'm not always sure what the correct English version is, so it's easier to stick to Latin._

 _Some military/political terms:_

 _Basically the Roman army consisted of a very rigid structure. The army was divided up ever smaller units, each of which had their leader. There was a very strict chain of command. It would take up too much space to explain the intricacies here. A Legion is the largest unit, consisting of anything between 3000-5200 soldiers. A_ _Turma is a cavalry unit, consisting of something between 20-30 men. It is led by a Decurio (this is not to be confused with the Decanus, the leader of the smallest army unit, ten men)._

 _The Quattorviri, literally "four men", are the administrative leaders of a city or administrative region._

 ** _TW: animal sacrifice in graphic detail. Skip first part if you do not want to read this._**

* * *

Hermione stood back with the other slaves and watched as Malfidus and his son approached the _haruspex_ with their offering. It was the finest calf from their _stabula_ and had been hand-picked by Malfidus himself. The men greeted each other with deference and two temple aides came forward to bind the calf's legs and lift it onto the altar. It was only then that she understood why Flavia had begged her to persuade their master not to bring his son.

She gritted her teeth and looked away when the hooded man brought down the knife with a decisive slash. She didn't see the blood that sprayed up and then dribbled down the stained marble altar as the animal was cut open, the last spasms of the animal before it gave into death or the cruel smile of the priest. She did hear the shocked gasp that came out of Scorpius' mouth, but when she looked back at him he seemed fascinated rather than horrified, almost leaning away from the hand that his father had placed on his shoulder to take a closer look. She might have done the same if the ruthless manner in which the animal was sacrificed had not reminded her suddenly, forcibly, of the death of her own tribe. She looked at the ground and tried to fight off the tears.

The _haruspex_ bent over the carcass and opened up its cavity to study the entrails.

"Your travels will be successful," the old priest said, his voice soft but echoing over the hushed temple courtyard. "Mercurius accepts your offering and blesses your endeavours." His fingers touched the still warm liver and he smiled. "You will be tempted, Proconsul. You must prevail. Blessings await you at the end of your travels. You may not find what you are looking for, but the Gods have seen fit to give you what you need." Hermione squirmed uncomfortably when the man's eyes fixed on Malfidus. "But such gifts are precarious. Be careful how you handle your good fortune."

Malfidus bowed to thank him and was led away by the Temple Master.

Scorpius ran up to Hermione with an excited smile on his face. "Did you see that? Did you see that? He cut open the calf and he could read inside! How could he read that? And then he _touched_ it."

Hermione's gaze flicked from Scorpius to the altar, which was now being cleaned by temple slaves as the carcass was carried over to the looming temple where the offerings were kept. Six ornate columns decorated the top of the many steps that the slaves barely managed to climb with their cumbersome load. They disappeared on the platform and through the open doors. She could just glimpse the golden statue in the back room and wondered vaguely what God they worshipped here. The druids had no temples like this. They celebrated the Sun and Moon Feasts in the open air. Hermione blinked and tried to remember if Samhain had already passed or not. She flushed and wrapped her arms around her stomach when she realised she simply did not know. Had she already displeased the Gods and her ancestors by not observing the rites?

Tertius had stepped up to them and was answering all of Scorpius' questions with an amused smile on his face.

"The _haruspex_ sees the Gods' writing in the beast's entrails. He is guided by the almighty Iuppiter and asks whatever questions you have to him or any other God whose blessing you want. Maybe some day you will be here to bring an offering and beg for the blessings of Mercurius and Neptunus for your travel." He looked up at Hermione, placing a hand on her arm to catch her attention, and grinned. "I shall have time to teach him more about religion and the proper way to pray and sacrifice to the Gods while the Master is away on consular business. The Master sent me over to ask if you can take young Master Scorpius home. He is caught up with the Temple Master who is eager to show off the newly built Forum. The Master fears young Scorpius may become bored if you remain here any longer. He will be back in time to share the _cena_ with his son, of course, as he will leave early tomorrow."

Hermione looked down at Scorpius, who no longer looked excited and happy. There was a frown on his face and his eyes were glued on his father's back.

"It may be best that we return," Hermione agreed, taking Scorpius' hand. She jerked involuntarily to release the tension in her body. She'd have to ignore her own worries for now. Maybe one of the other slaves could tell her if they had already passed into the cold month.

"The _lecticula_ is ready to take you both back," Tertius said, waving at the entry of the temple courtyard where the slaves who had carried Malfidus and his son to the temple were waiting. "I've ordered them to take you to the palace and then return for their Master. You had best get in with Master Scorpius. He wouldn't want you to walk behind and leave the young Master alone."

* * *

Hermione found herself carried through the streets of Narbo in the _lecticula_. Crowds parted with speed and deference to let the Consular Guard pass. It was an entirely new experience, but she could not quite enjoy it with a sulking Scorpius on her lap.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly as she carded her fingers through his hair affectionately and he snuggled closer into her embrace.

"Is Father leaving?"

Hermione closed her eyes in quiet frustration. Tertius had told her only that morning, but she had assumed Malfidus had informed his son himself. Why would he have taken the boy to see the sacrifice and ask the Gods for an auspicious journey without telling him he was about to go away for three or four weeks?

"Tertius told me he has business to attend to in some of the other cities of the Provincia. I think he will be gone for a while." Scorpius tensed in her arms and she braced herself for his reaction.

"But what about me?" he asked in a small voice.

"I'm sorry, _corculus_. I think your father will be travelling alone."

He didn't say anything else for the remainder of their journey, and when they alighted from the _lecticula_ at the plaace, he ran away from her, disappearing quickly through the _vestibulum_ and the _atrium_. She found him in his bed, curled up in a little ball, but when she reached for him he lashed out and scratched her, leaving angry red marks on her arm. She retreated and sat down in a far corner of his _cubiculum_ , not knowing what to do with the child.

* * *

Draco had barely set foot in the family quarters when he was accosted by Flavia.

"Did you tell your son you were leaving?"

He blinked, surprised at her angry tone, and tried to bring his mind around to domesticity rather than the issues of the Temple Master and his dispute with the architect of the new Circus, who had dared to lure away the craftsmen who were not yet finished with the tympanum for the temple but had given in to the promise of more money to decorate the amphitheatre in the eastern quarter of the city. Listening to such squabbles was trying at the very least, and Draco had no patience left.

"What do you mean, Flavia?"

"The boy is in his room, crying, hurtling toys at whoever tries to get near. Did you tell him you were leaving for a whole month, or did you just take him with you to the temple without explaining?"

"I told him yesterday evening," Draco said, feeling an absurd need to defend himself against his servant. But Flavia was rather formidable when angry, and he respected her too much to dismiss her without listening.

"Are you sure?" Flavia looked at him with angry dark eyes, and he looked away uncomfortably, only to see the slave girl sitting outside Scorpius' _cubiculum_.

"Yes, of course, at _cena_ , I…" He stopped and blanched with mortification, turning back to Flavia.

"I forgot," he said in a surprised tone. "I was going to tell him yesterday evening but I forgot. I was… distracted." His eyes flicked to the slave girl. "How bad is it?"

Flavia only huffed and stalked away, her sandals slapping onto the mosaic floor until she had disappeared into the servants' quarters.

Draco sighed and walked towards his son's _cubiculum_. He stopped before the girl and looked down at a head of curly brown hair that was braided into a severe plait.

"How bad is it?" he asked again.

The girl looked up and scrambled to her feet.

"He's upset," she said in her lilting voice. "He was always going to be upset, you know. Even if you'd told him yesterday. It would only have made the whole of today more difficult. Flavia is more worried than angry. Nobody has succeeded in getting him to eat or drink or even leave his room since we got back." She looked away from him again and unconsciously cradled her arm against her chest.

Draco noticed the gesture and reached out before he realised what he was doing. He hissed when he saw the angry red marks and faint streaks of blood. He could feel the fury boiling in his gut as he gently stroked the bruised skin.

" _Ancilla_ , what happened? Who did this?"

His voice was as soft as his touch and the girl shuddered as she stepped back. He had to let go, but he still looked at her expectantly. She stared at her feet and refused to answer.

"Well? Answer me." He was getting impatient now. The sight of her injured arm stirred an anger he wasn't sure what to do with. Nobody had the right to hurt her, and if anyone had laid a hand on her… But her eyes flicked to Scorpius' room and back to the floor, and he understood instantly. He sighed, the anger deflating as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Find Flavia, she may have some arnica paste. I'll talk to my son." He paused, and when she still didn't look up at him he put a finger under her chin and gently nudged it up until her eyes locked with his. "I do not condone corporal punishment, ever. I understand my son was in a temper, but it is no excuse to hurt someone, and especially someone he has a duty to protect. This won't happen again."

She leaned back a little, away from intrusive eyes and burning touch, and nodded. He motioned for her to go and waited until the echo of her footsteps across the atrium had faded before he entered his son's room.

* * *

Scorpius approached her that evening with a contrite look on his face and a beautiful bunch of grapes in his hands. She was sitting in the garden with Flavia, helping the cook prepare vegetables for the next day's meal. Flavia nudged her. "Young Master is on his way," she whispered in her ear. Hermione refrained from looking until the boy cleared his throat, shuffling nervously in the dust.

She turned around and smiled at the boy, whose eyes were still red from all the crying that afternoon.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said, and promptly began to cry again.

Hermione quickly kneeled in front of him and drew him in an embrace.

"It's fine, it was an accident, it doesn't matter, shhh," she muttered soothingly, unconsciously falling back into her native tongue. It was only then that she noticed Malfidus watching from a distance. He smiled at her and turned away, and she directed her attention back at the child clutching at her shift, soothing him, hugging him, until the tears finally stopped.

"Look," she said as she showed him her arm. The marks were still red but they looked less angry and she'd finally had time to wipe off what little blood he'd managed to draw when he'd clawed at her. "It's almost healed already, see? Flavia gave me some medicine. It doesn't hurt. It will be gone by tomorrow."

"Father says I have to behave like a true Malfidus," Scorpius said, still sniffling but puffing out his chest nonetheless. "He says that because he's gone I have to take care of everyone. He says I cannot behave like a child when I'm the master in the house." Hermione had to press her lips together to stop the laughter that almost bubbled up at the boy's solemn face and voice.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine, Scorpius."

"I have to protect you, not hurt you." She could hear Flavia snort behind her back and it took all her control to nod back seriously.

"I brought you grapes," he said, as if suddenly remembering the now partially crushed fruit. Hermione eyed the stains on his tunica and decided she'd have to get him a new one before cena. Luckily she didn't have to do any of the washing. She settled back down next to Flavia, Scorpius right next to her and offering her grapes as he leaned against her side. She noticed his weight became heavier and heavier on her arm, and was about to give him a shake when she realised he'd fallen asleep, exhausted from all the emotions of the day.

"That promises for tomorrow," she muttered. Flavia laughed quietly, so as to not wake up the child.

"He'll be a bit difficult, to be sure. But just remind him that he should act like a true Malfidus and he'll come around quickly." They both sniggered. Then Hermione slowly moved and wriggled until she could lift Scorpius in her arms. She stood up and carried him to his bed. He didn't wake up.

She was about to take her place just outside his _cubiculum_ when Malfidus appeared before her again. He motioned her away from the doorway and they walked to the other side of the _atrium_.

"I would like you to sleep in his room while I'm gone," he began, without preamble. "You or Flavia. I don't want him to be alone in this side of the house."

"As you wish," she murmured.

"I would also like him to take over the daily offerings to the _lares_. He's very young, of course, maybe too young, but I feel that if he has a responsibility as if he were an adult, he'll be easier to handle when I'm gone. Tertius will help him. Has Flavia healed your arm?"

The sudden change of subject threw her a little.

"She's helped me. It will be gone by tomorrow, I'm sure. It was just a scratch."

Malfidus stared at her with eyes like molten silver and she found herself unable to look away. "You are to punish him if something like this happens again. I will not stand for such childish tantrums, especially not when he hurts the people around him. I heard he threw some of his toys at the other slaves, too. Such behaviour cannot be condoned."

Hermione swallowed and forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"He is just a child, Master. Nobody was seriously hurt."

"But you could have been."

Hermione was caught in the intensity of his gaze, and for the longest time, they only stared at each other. She was confused. So confused. Malfidus almost sounded like he cared, but how could he, after what he had done to her people? Her hand went up to her slave collar and she stepped back, her head bowed to hide the pain in her heart.

"If that is all, Master?"

"I will expect to see my son at cena, as I won't be seeing him again until the Ides of November at the least. It should be the only time I am away for so long, but I must make my rounds through the Provincia before winter makes it too uncomfortable."

"Of course." She said nothing more and waited until he dismissed her with a quick wave of his hand. She sat down just outside Scorpius' _cubiculum_ to wait until it was time to wake him up for his last meal with his father, and watched the man disappear into the official part of the palace where the Guard and the offices of the government officials were situated. She still felt the burn of his touch on her arm and chin.

* * *

Draco left at dawn the next morning. He turned around his horse after leaving the Palace to look up at the building that had almost become a real home in the few weeks he'd been there. Then he noticed her, standing on the porticus, Scorpius in her arms. The sun glinted off his white blond hair and illuminated the honey-coloured tresses in hers. They must have just woken up, because her hair was in disarray. He waved, and felt a pang in his chest when his son turned away and started shaking. A moment later, though clearly still distressed, he turned back again and waved too. He directed his horse towards the Via Aquitania, which would take them to Tolosa, and didn't look back again. But he knew both Scorpius and his slave would be watching until they could no longer distinguish the group of horsemen.

Three days on horseback was not what Draco had signed up for when he accepted the position of Proconsul of the Provincia, but he endured the discomfort and the dust because it was the fastest and easiest way to travel in a small group. He was accompanied by a _turma_ of about twenty cavalrymen. Their _Decurio_ , Figulus, was a man his own age, with dark brown hair and disconcertingly green eyes, and they became friendly along the way.

The Legatus of the Tolosa legion welcomed him and led him to the baths, where he received the full treatment of cleaning and massages, making him feel a little better. He was introduced to the local _Quattorviri_ during cena, and when the Legatus gamely offered him one of the dancers for a night's entertainment, he accepted. If he imagined wild brown curls and a smattering of freckles on a snub nose while he was pounding into the woman, he would never admit it.

One day's meeting with the local officials blended into the next, and one day's travel was soon like any other. They left Tolosa after a week and travelled back towards Narbo, but Draco refused to spend a night at home. He knew Scorpius would be clingy when he returned, and he had to leave again the next morning. It would be easier not to see him altogether. He stayed at the camp instead, ignoring the pang of guilt.

Their travels took them onwards, to Nemausus, Arelate, Valentia and eventually Vienna Allobrogium, the last stop on his long journey. Beautiful cities, each in their own right, that welcomed him with festivities and ceremonies fit for an Emperor.

He couldn't wait to get back home.


	4. Chapter 4

_**History lesson!** _

_We talked about the army a little earlier, but here's a quick recap._

 _Turma = cavalry unit of about 20-30 men, led by a Decurio._

 _Tribunus (militum) = staff officer serving under a Legatus (i.e. leader of a Legion) - senior officer._

 _Caliga (plural: caligae) are soldier's boots. You may remember a Roman Emperor called Caligula, his name means "little soldier's boot", basically. He was an absolute tyrant._

 _A 'triumphus' is a victory procession, usually reserved for those military leaders who brought the Roman army to victory. Conquered people - the higher their position the better - would be walked around Rome in a final bout of humiliation at their loss._

 _Religion - not sure how much I said about that yet? The Romans, like the Greeks, had a whole pantheon of Gods, for just about anything you can think of. Like, there's even a god for window sills or something. In this chapter I'm mentioning the following:_

 _\- Fortuna (Goddess of good luck)_

 _\- Bellona (Goddess of War)_

 _\- The Lares (guardians of sorts, every household has statues representing their own particular household guardians (lares familiares) and there would be daily rituals, leaving small offerings and such, to honour them.)_

 _\- Iuppiter - Latin form of Jupiter or Jove, King of the Roman Gods and God of the sky and thunder._

 _Also, for Romans, no matter where they lived, no matter how far away their travels had taken them, there really was only one City - Rome. Everything else was countryside.  
_

 _Wax tablets (cerae, sometimes also tabella or tabula) and stylus were quite common in the Ancient civilisations, and were used for many centuries to teach children to write. Paper, papyrus, parchment, and any of the like, were very expensive, so not suitable for teaching/scribbling. A wax tablet could easily be erased and used again. This is where the expression tabula rasa comes from - an erased tablet contained literally no trace of what had been there before._

 _A balneum is a small, private bathhouse._

* * *

They were finally on their way back, Draco as impatient to return to Narbo as any of his men. It really had been too long since he'd seen Scorpius, and if his thoughts occasionally strayed to a fierce, brown eyed servant, he would never admit it out loud. She featured heavily in his dreams and he was ashamed to wake up to soiled bedsheets more often than not, like he was some youth in his first prime.

They had travelled four days in a row now, camping outside the cities on their way back to avoid the time-consuming courtesies a visiting Proconsul would usually be welcomed with. Hadrianus Figulus, his _decurio_ , had assured Draco they were only half a day's travel from Narbo now, and a leisurely meal and some time out off the road would do them all good. They had stopped at a _taberna_ along the _Via Domitia,_ the men gratefully washing the dust from travel down their throats with mead and wine. The innkeeper had graciously provided the Proconsul with a private room to take prandium, along with Figulus, and the rest of the _turma_ were comfortably seated in the main room, amusing other travellers with marching songs and stories of their travels.

Draco enjoyed the peace and quiet of the dank little room at the back of the _taberna_. Though he much appreciated the company of his _turma_ , he had to maintain the dignity required of a proconsul and could not join in the general mirth and amusements during their trip. But with only Hadrianus Figulus at his side, he could relax a little. He had taken off his cloak and leant against the back wall, eyes closed, waiting for the innkeeper to bring them some refreshing drinks. Figulus sat by his side, equally quiet. Draco knew the man missed his wife and child. After being on the road together for twenty-eight days, he knew about the family life and history of all his men. Draco let his own mind wander back to the last glimpse he'd had of Scorpius, waving at him from the proconsular palace balcony in the rising sun, and he sighed with pleasure at the thought of seeing his son again soon.

Draco's peace was soon shattered when the innkeeper opened the door again and let in another guest. Draco's eyes narrowed as he recognised the intruder.

"Zabini," he said, barely able to keep the disgust out of his voice.

Figulus stood up to greet the _tribunus_ with all the deference owed to a superior officer, but Draco remained seated.

" _Ave_ Malfidus. _Fortuna_ must have made our paths cross." Zabini eyed him up and down with an almost insolent frown, and Draco was more conscious than ever of the dust and dirt of five days travel sticking to his skin and clothes.

"Or _Bellona_ ," Draco muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Figulus to hear.

The innkeeper wrung his hands together, not entirely immune to the sudden tension in the room, and let out a nervous laugh. "Oh good, you know each other, then you won't mind sharing this room for _prandium_? I only have one private room, you see, my little inn doesn't often welcome two such high dignitaries at the same time."

Draco sent his new companion a cold smile and gestured at the bench opposite for Zabini to join him, and the innkeeper left with many bows and apologies for the inconvenience.

Zabini placed himself with exaggerated care and disdain onto the hard wooden bench. He ignored the _decurio_ and fixed his eyes on Draco instead.

"I should have thought establishments such as these beneath the Proconsul's notice," Zabini drawled, his finger swiping along the hard wooden table with a frown of distaste. "Did you grow tired of the baths and brothels of Narbo already?"

Draco ground his teeth together but refused to be baited. "The same could be said about you, Zabini. I thought you were on your way to the City when we met in _Massilia_."

Zabini shook his head with a derisive smile. "On the contrary, my friend, Northern _Gallia_ was my destination. Another pesky uprising." He shrugged as if the battle he had participated in was of no consequence. "Your father sends his regards."

Draco stiffened slightly but tried not to show his discomfort. He did not like to be reminded of his father. It had been hard to carve out his own career on merit alone, and not rely on his family name, and the relationship between father and son was strained due to their many, mostly private but sometimes public, disagreements on politics and the law.

He was about to move the conversation on when they were interrupted by the entry of the innkeeper, who carried a large platter with roasted meat, followed by a girl carrying three _poculi_ filled to the brim with foaming mead. Draco noticed that Zabini let his eyes rove over the girl with lecherous delight and frowned disapprovingly.

Figulus, who was trying desperately to keep out of whatever animosity the other two had between them, noticed as well. His eyes gleamed a brilliant green and he tensed a little, ready to step in should the _tribunus_ act out, but Zabini did nothing more than stare and grin. Both Draco and Figulus seemed to sag with relief when the girl left, and prepared to eat.

"Why would you think I was on my way to Rome?" Zabini asked, while he selected a particularly juicy joint and bit into the meat with obvious relish.

Draco blinked, a little surprised. He had completely forgotten their earlier short conversation. "I assumed you were on your way home when we met at the slave market. Why would you buy a slave if you were on your way to a battlefield?"

Zabini looked up from his joint with a mocking smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Can you really not imagine what I would want a slavegirl for? Malfidus, you surprise me." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, his smirk widening into a grin. "But you did get the goods out from under my nose. I heard you bought the chit. So tell me, Malfidus, what was she like? Is she as fierce as she looks? She had a fire in her eyes that promised a good fight. Have you managed to tame her yet? Was she as deliciously tight as she looked?"

Draco Malfidus first turned red when he realised what Zabini was hinting at, and then white with anger.

"I needed a slave to take care of my son, Zabini," he ground out through gritted teeth, "not one to warm my bed."

Zabini shrugged and waved a hand. "Surely she could do both. Come now, Malfidus, you already deprived me of the pleasure of her body. Tell me what she was like. Did she suck your cock like a good little whore?"

Draco didn't really know what overcame him. The next thing he knew, his hands were closing around Zabini's throat, feet kicking and fingers squeezing in a haze of rage. He hardly noticed that Zabini was fighting back until a sharp pain brought him back to his senses and a cry escaped from his lips. Only then Figulus managed to drag him off Zabini. He placed himself between the two men.

"Grab your food and get out," he growled, not caring that Zabini was, in fact, of higher rank. "The Proconsul desires to have this room to himself. And if you know what is good for you, you will not mention this to anyone." He glanced behind him, as if to reassure himself that Draco Malfidus was still alive, then back at Zabini. "You stabbed the Proconsul of Gallia Narbonensis. You stabbed the representative of the Emperor, who himself was chosen by the Gods. Think how this can ruin your career, _Tribunus_ Zabini. The Proconsul is my first and foremost concern. I will testify before _Iuppiter_ himself that he had cause to attack if I need to."

Zabini glared at the dark-haired _decurio_ before him, but even he had to acknowledge that the man was right. He stood up, brushed down his clothes and stalked out of the room without looking back.

Figulus turned back to Draco, shaking his head. "I have no idea what made you attack him, but you should know better than to assault someone with a military career as distinguished as his." He bent down and helped Draco to his feet with a sigh. The wound in his shoulder bled heavily, staining his white toga. "I'll see if I can find a _medicus_ around here."

Draco let himself be handled by his _decurio_ , who was a lot kinder to him than he deserved after his rash reaction to Zabini's taunts. He hardly noticed the blood that trickled down his arm and chest, or the searing pain in his shoulder. His mind was fixed on that damned _ancilla_ he had chosen for his son. The woman had occupied his every waking thought since he'd first seen her, and he could not help but admit to himself that part of his visceral reaction against Zabini's words came from the realisation he had wanted to do exactly what that _impuratus_ had suggested, and he could not forgive himself for it.

* * *

Hermione observed from a distance as Tertius guided Scorpius through the different steps of the ritual offerings to the _Lares_. Today he burned some incense and left a little wine in the _lararium_. He no longer stumbled over the ritual words and prayers, which made her proud. Tertius hardly had to prompt him at all. The monotone cadence of the words reminded her of her own prayers.

She had been allowed to celebrate Samhain the week before, to mark the end of Summer and the start of the Dark season.

"The Master doesn't mind that you observe your own religion," Tertius had explained, "As long as your observance is no inconvenience to him."

So she had recreated the fire ritual as well as she could, starting a new fire from scratch and offering a rabbit she had caught only the day before, to thank the Gods for the bountiful harvests and ask them for the strength to get through the cold season. Though she had heard the Druid chant the words for many years, she had a hard time trying to remember them by herself.

It had been even more difficult to conduct the ritual to remember the dead that night, at the time when the veil between this world and the world of those who had moved on was at its thinnest. It had made her feel a little closer to her family, though the celebration of their lives also, inevitably, brought about the memories of their gruesome deaths. She had returned to her room with raw energy coursing through her, and she had been restless ever since.

Scorpius ran up to her, beaming with pride. "I did well, Tertius says I will be able to do this all on my own soon!"

"Very well, Master Scorpius." Hermione smiled down at the little boy. His grey eyes sparkled silver with excitement.

"Will you teach me the numbers again today?" he asked eagerly.

Hermione nodded and let herself be dragged to the other side of the atrium, where Tertius handed them a _cera_ and _stylus_ , and explained again how the numbers worked.

The time since the Master's departure had gone by quickly. Scorpius had thrown a couple of temper tantrums but with the help of Flavia and Tertius they had managed to make him forget exactly how long his father had been gone.

Hermione had started to teach him numbers and letters, and though he didn't take to the latter with much ease, he seemed to have a knack for the former. He was easily distracted, though, and as likely to throw away his _cera_ and _stylus_ in a fit of frustration and run off to play with his toy soldiers, as to be bent over his writing in concentration for an entire morning, tracing and retracing what she had shown him until he could copy it perfectly.

She absolutely loved teaching Scorpius. Being with him, teaching him to draw numbers on the wax tablet, his radiant smile when he did something right and she praised him, it all reminded her of home, of her youngest brothers who had only just started their schooling, of long gone the family evenings when her father had taken her on his lap and showed her how to write. The feeling was bitter-sweet, filled with love and longing and the knowledge that such times were gone forever.

But Scorpius clearly adored her, and she couldn't pretend she didn't care about him when he wrapped his arms around her neck to give her a hug or sat on her lap while she told him a story. He made her feel as if she wasn't quite so alone. She could almost pretend the nightmare that had brought her here was no more than a bad dream. He almost made her forget her pain, and she could not help but love him. That Draco Malfidus had been gone for the better part of four weeks only made it easier to forget the real reason she was there.

That afternoon, Hermione sat in the garden, at Scorpius' feet, enjoying the last rays of sunshine of the day. She still wasn't quite used to the weather. Where she had grown up, the ground was frozen almost perpetually between Samhain and Ostara, but here, even though it was now the Cold month, the weather still did not call for a warm cloak, as long as they sat out of the cold wind. Scorpius had fallen asleep, and she did not want to risk waking him by taking him back to his _cubiculum_ , so she had simply sat down, relishing in the rays of the sun for a quiet few moments. They were hidden from sight by a few fragrant bushes, and Hermione knew they were not likely to be found any time soon. Only Flavia knew they liked to frequent this place, and she was confined to the slave quarters with a high fever, unable to leave her bed.

She heard voices coming closer and curled in on herself a little. She didn't recognise them but the telltale slap of _caligae_ on marble betrayed they were soldiers.

"I hear there was another uprising in Northern Gallia, near the border with Germania," one deep voice said, frustration in his tone.

"Yes, Malfidus squashed it, though. They won't attempt to do this a second time," the other voice replied.

"Any survivors this time?" asked the first voice with obvious glee.

"He did get some criticism for not bringing any slaves back to Rome last time," the second voice chuckled. "But he must have learned from his mistake because this time the Emperor will get his _triumphus_."

The footsteps continued and the voices dimmed.

Hermione sat frozen. Her stomach was churning with rage and nausea, the fire of revenge fully rekindled and burning bright in her heart.

* * *

Draco arrived in Narbo, tired and in pain. His shoulder hurt terribly. He had continued his journey against the _medicus'_ suggestions. He'd clenched his teeth all the way from the _taberna_ to Narbo, the pain screaming through his shoulder every time the horse's hooves hit the ground. He had refused to give in, though, the lure of home, Scorpius, a warm bath, too compelling. The half day journey had taken a little longer, as their pace was slower, and it was very late when they finally dismounted.

His first thought was to see Scorpius, but one look at the horrified face of the slave who had come up to welcome him reminded him that he must be dusty and grimy from travel, so he directed his steps to the _balneum_ instead.

"Send Flavia in to help me," he told his slave, who bowed and scurried away quickly.

He tried to undress himself, but his injured shoulder protested with a sharp painful shudder that made him fall to his knees, and he remained kneeling on the floor until he heard soft footsteps coming up behind him.

He didn't look up, eyes clenched shut in an attempt to master the suffering in his shoulder. It took him several deep breaths before he could speak.

"Flavia, can you undress me and help me into the bath? I have injured my shoulder and cannot do it alone."

But it wasn't Flavia's voice that answered him.

"Flavia is ill," said the lilting voice that he could not get out of his head. "But I can help you."

Draco's head snapped back and his eyes took in a slender form, dark eyes and brown curls that lit up golden in the torchlight. His breath caught for an entirely different reason as his eyes feasted on the girl he could not forget. He wanted to say no, to ask for another slave, but the sudden movement had jostled his shoulder and instead of a refusal, a sound of agony passed his lips. She had kneeled next to him in a moment and started shifting the _toga_ and _tunica_ off his body.

She didn't seem phased at all by his nakedness, and Draco could only thank the sharp pain in his shoulder for preventing any signs of the arousal he surely never could have hidden had her soft hands undressed him at any other time.

The girl helped him into the _tepidarium_ first, sitting on the edge while he dove under to get the worst of the grime off his body. Then she assisted him into the _caldarium_ , where he sank onto the bench and leaned his head against the edge with closed eyes. The hot water burned through his injury, but once the first shock of pain had gone, his shoulder seemed to revel in the heat and the pain gradually subsided.

"You can leave now," he said, relishing in the feeling of all his muscles relaxing at once. "Send Coilus in to help me."

"I could help you wash your hair," the girl said.

Draco did not open his eyes. He wanted to say no. He wanted her to go. The pain was subsiding and he was relaxed and he wanted her gone before his body reacted to her intoxicating presence. But his mouth answered before his brain could prevent it.

"Fine."

Draco refused to open his eyes while the girl had her hands in his hair, carefully, softly, enticingly. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she wasn't a mere slave performing her duties, a nothing under the law, nothing but a lowly part of his household.

"Use the cloth to wash the rest of my body while you're at it," he heard himself say. And then her hands were on him, only a soft scrap of fabric separating her skin from his. She rubbed the grime off his neck and chest, his good shoulder, and then his injured shoulder, with such caution he could almost believe she actually cared. Her hand went lower and lower, caressing his chest and stomach and abdomen, and he could feel his body reacting to her touch. But he couldn't bring himself to try and send her away again. He'd never allow himself to take advantage of her, even though the law would not prevent him. But he could enjoy her ministrations, if only for tonight, if only for once. Her hands went lower and lower and he was getting hard.

* * *

Hermione cursed her mouth for offering to help the man who was responsible for so much pain among her people, but she could not back down now. So she kneeled behind him on the edge of the bath and started scooping up water to wash the grit out of his hair. Her teeth ground together in frustration and shame. Here she was, on her knees, helping, _serving_ the bastard who had ordered her family killed, who had quashed yet another uprising, destroyed yet another tribe's future. Her hands shook with rage as her fingers ran through his hair, fine, blond hair stuck together with grit and dust. When he ordered her to wash his body, she couldn't help the tears of humiliation that pricked in the corners of her eyes. But she would not let them fall.

She stared at the man she now hated more than anything. He seemed to relax more and more as she continued to bathe him, his head still resting against the edge of the bath, his eyes always closed. His face seemed to change, all the tension draining from it, worry lines smoothing out into perfect, pale skin, and his throat… His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily when her hand went down to his abdomen. Hermione licked her lips. Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her eyes were fixed on his throat. She could see the flush of arousal on his chest, see the evidence of it bobbing in the water.

He really was rather gorgeous, she had to admit. Such a shame.

One hand kept rubbing his chest and arms, up and down in a soothing rhythm.

Her other hand grabbed the dagger she had taken to wearing underneath her tunic, and slowly brought the blade closer to his exposed throat.

He smiled, an easy, almost childish smile. Then, suddenly, he opened his eyes, looking up at her.

She froze. Those eyes, Scorpius' eyes… Her breath caught in her throat and her body began to tremble. Scorpius, who loved her, Scorpius, who gave her flowers and looked so happy when he managed to write down the numbers correctly. Scorpius, who fell asleep in her arms as she sang to him. And here, his father… She couldn't.

The dagger clattered onto the floor and she recoiled. He sat up, startled by the noise, and turned around to see where it came from. He noticed the dagger immediately. His surprise turned into a frown as he slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers. She took another step back, her mouth opening and closing without knowing what she wanted to say. She saw the question in his eyes, the betrayal written all over his face, and when his lips opened to ask the question she didn't want to hear, she turned and fled.

* * *

 _AN: I'm sorry._

 _Actually, no, I'm not._

 _Beta thanks to hobbit penguin, any remaining mistakes are my own._


	5. Chapter 5

_So let's have a closer look at the position of slaves in Roman society. Slaves under the Roman Law were considered no more than property - they could not even testify in court, unless they were tortured (it was believed loyal slaves would only tell the truth about their masters when tortured). This means that the treatment of any slave was at the master's discretion. As times changed, it became more and more unacceptable for masters to abuse their slaves, and slaves did receive a little more protection under the law. Still, a master could choose to punish his slave any way he wished, do anything with them or to them and not receive any rebuke. They could kill their slaves and nobody would bat an eye - something that happened quite often especially for a serious offence. Such as trying to kill their masters. (evil grin)_

 _Rebellious slaves were often disfigured for life - not by any limbs being cut off as that would defeat the usefulness of having a slave. Slaves who tried to run away were branded with FUG on their forehead for 'fugitivus' or fugitive. Such branded slaves could still (eventually) gain their freedom, but would never be granted Roman citizenship. Remember also that slaves would also wear an iron collar around their neck stating the name of their owner. But as often as not, their slave status was tattooed onto their forehead, something slaves could attempt to hide by wearing a head band of sorts. It made it quite easy to pick out any runaway slaves from the crowd._

 _Slaves could earn their own money (although it would technically belong to their master) and often skilled slaves would manage to earn enough to buy their freedom. Most often a slave would be granted freedom by their master for services rendered. Many of such freed slaves have gone on to live prosperous lives, though just as many spent their last sestertius on their freedom and would be reduced to begging in the streets._

 _Some vocab reminders:_

 _\- The_ five-folded brat _is a type of elaborate mantle that Celtic chiefs wore._

 _-_ Prandium _is the midday meal,_ cena _the evening meal_

 _-_ Ite _means 'Go'_

 _\- A_ gladius _is a roman short sword used by the military_

 _-_ A decanus _is the leader of the smallest military unit in the Roman army, leading about eight men (even if the name might suggest ten...)_

 _-_ Belgica _is the Northern part of Gallia and comprises roughly present-day Northern France, Belgium and the Southern Netherlands._ Brittannia _was the Latin name for the part of present-day Britain that was under Roman rule, though also sometimes used to refer to the island as a whole._

* * *

000000000000

Hermione sat against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms tightly embracing her legs in an effort to stay warm. She had no idea how much time had passed, only that it was dark, that she was hungry and that she was cold.

And that she was a failure.

 _I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. Forgive me, Father. Forgive me, Mother. I failed you. I failed._

She'd had him in such a perfectly vulnerable position. She could have sliced his throat with ease. And she hadn't.

 _I'm a disgrace._

She heard the voices in the darkness, whispering in the shadows, taunting.

 _Is that how you honour your family?_

 _Have you so soon forgotten the screams of your brothers?_

 _Is this the vengeance you bring upon those who desecrated and ravaged your land and people?_

 _Hermione…_

Hermione looked up when she heard her name and her eyes widened at the sight of her father. She knew it couldn't be him, and yet, it was. The proud Chieftain of the Eburones, dressed in full regalia, his five-folded _brat_ slung over one arm and fastened with a golden penannular brooch on his shoulder, the elaborately carved leather sheath for his sword, gleaming armlets around his upper arms and his torque around his neck. It was as she had seen him last, preparing for battle with the Romans. She could hardly keep in a sob.

 _Hermione, dear girl, what did you do?_

His voice was eerie and yet so characteristically his. She stretched her hands out but he did not come nearer. He only shook his head, slowly, sadly.

 _This is not how I raised you, Daughter._

Tears that had long ago stopped now trickled along her cheeks again, leaving sticky traces in the dust on her face.

"Father…"

 _Don't give up, Hermione. Be proud. Live. You were spared for a reason. Live._

Hermione tried to get up, but her legs couldn't carry her. She crawled forward, trying to reach him, but the further she got, the more he seemed to shrink away into the darkness. She started crying in earnest now.

"Father, please don't go. Please don't leave. Help me, please!" she sobbed.

But again, her father only shook his head.

 _Keep your head high and carry on, Hermione mine. For all of us._

Then he disappeared, leaving her alone in the dark. She curled up in a ball and cried until exhaustion conquered her body and sleep claimed her.

* * *

Draco Malfidus paced up and down the length of his office. His assistant had brought him up to speed on the messages from Rome, tax income and recent turmoil along the south border of his territory. One of the mountain tribes was attacking the trade convoys along the Via Domitia. Bandits were really the only challenge the Provincia offered its soldiers, so Draco was grateful he could send one of his centurions out on a mission. They grew restless if they had nothing to do for too long, and mutinous soldiers was the last thing he had time for now.

In fact, his every waking moment was now taken up by Scorpius. He'd been taken down for his nap, after yet another tantrum, screaming the whole palace down. The boy had been insufferable and clingy ever since his return. Of course he'd been happy to see his father, proud to show him how he left daily offers at the lararium, eager to show how he could now write the numbers up to X, but then bedtime came, and the slave girl hadn't been there to put him to bed and sing him to sleep, and that's when the trouble began. Draco hadn't seen him throw such tantrums since Astoria's death.

The slavegirl.

He couldn't get her out of his mind.

He closed his eyes and was transported back to the balneum, her hands softly rubbing the grime off his body, his cock responding to the innocent touches as if lit on fire. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly then. He'd opened his eyes, saw the hatred and determination in her eyes and a moment later the shock and repulsion. And before he'd even registered that difference, he heard the clatter of metal on the marble floor and she was gone, leaving only a knife gleaming in the torchlight.

Why?

What was he supposed to do now?

How could he have let her take care of Scorpius? What might she not have done to him?

But then, she'd had almost a month alone with his son. And, as far as he could figure out, she'd treated him with respect and care, as any nursery slave would.

So it wasn't Scorpius. It was him she'd wanted to attack.

But why?

He rubbed his hands over his face and growled with frustration. He'd been trying to think it over for days, and nothing made sense. He'd talked to Flavia and Tertius, but neither could tell him anything about the girl, and they had been closest to her of all his slaves.

Draco heard the excited chatter and light pitter-patter of his son's footsteps on the marble floor and shook his head as if to chase the thoughts away. He had to focus on Scorpius, first and foremost.

"Father, father, look what Flavia gave me!"

Draco forced a smile on his face that became entirely genuine when Scorpius rushed in, holding his latest treasure high above his head. Draco looked with interest at the little toy that now took up all his son's attention. It was a little wooden horse with wheels for legs.

"Look father, it rolls!"

Draco nodded gratefully at Flavia, who shrugged and received his wordless thanks with a little bow. He watched as Scorpius played with the little horse, lying on the floor, chatting happily to nobody in particular. Flavia was making her way towards him slowly. She had recovered from her high fever, but her years seemed suddenly to have caught up with her.

"Has he asked about her again?" Draco muttered, not taking his eyes off his son.

Flavia nodded. "He did go to sleep eventually, but he really misses her. They had such a beautiful bond together. I can't keep making these toys to distract him, Master. You will have to make a decision on what to tell him sooner or later." She sent him a shrewd look. "It might help if you knew what to say, of course." Then she shuffled towards Scorpius and lowered herself on the floor with a grunt, a little distance away.

Draco was forced to return to his desk, where a number of scrolls with reports from all over the Empire awaited him, to give at least the semblance of working. He unrolled the top scroll and began to read a report about another quashed uprising, skimming over familiar names and ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that came with reading Blasius Zabini's name with all the usual accolades.

There wasn't just the shame of that brawl in the taberna, but also the reason they had fought in the first place.

That damned slave girl.

If only he'd never set eyes on her. If only he'd arrived at the Massilia slave market a little later, she'd have been gone and he wouldn't be in this damnable mess.

A small, sticky hand on his arm drew his attention back to his son.

"Father, when is Hermione coming back?"

Draco closed his eyes and sighed, bracing himself for another screaming match.

* * *

Hermione sat in a corner, arms around her knees, waiting. Her stomach growled loudly in the quiet darkness. She'd forgotten what hunger felt like. All her life she had received only the best at her father's table. After the tragedy that had exiled her from her native grounds, she'd always been able to find food in the forest. She had learnt to hunt and forage from a young age. It was easy to find enough to live on during the warm season. After she'd been captured by Arcanus near Lutetia, she'd never been left to go completely hungry. Arcanus kept his slaves, if not exactly abundantly fed, at least well-fed enough to appear healthy. And Malfidus had always been generous with the food he allowed his slaves.

But now… Now she knew the pain of hunger, the sharp clenching and punching of her stomach clamouring for food. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd last eaten. She'd only had time for a few scraps at _prandium_ because Scorpius had taken up too much of her attention. And then she'd been summoned to the _balneum_ just as she wanted to have _cena_.

Her cell door opened, the bright light of torches in the corridor illuminating her small cell for just a moment. Hermione was almost blinded by the glare, but her eyes adjusted just in time to see the plate of bread and beaker of water that had been placed just inside the door before it closed again. She dove at it without thinking twice, hardly taking the time to chew the brittle and dry chunk of bread before swallowing. She could hear the taunting laughter of the soldiers in the corridor, the clamour of prisoners demanding food, but she didn't pay attention to anything but the food she had been given.

Only when it was all gone did she consider it might have been better to keep some water and bread aside. Who knew when she'd get another meal?

Hermione cursed under her breath and huddled back into her corner, making herself as small as possible in a vain attempt to get warmer. If only she hadn't been captured.

* * *

The door to her cell was thrown open and a dark silhouette stepped into the glaring light. Hermione expected them to just leave her food near the door, as they always did, but this time, the guard came into the cell and dragged her to her feet.

" _Ite_ ," a gruff voice ordered, pushing her out of the cell, the cold metal of a _gladius_ pressing in her back. One guard stepped in front of her to lead the way, another joined the one behind her.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed with difficulty. _This is it. I'm joining my family soon._ The idea frightened her, but was also strangely comforting. No matter what happened, her father and mother would be waiting in the Afterlife.

She was paraded through long corridors that became increasingly more sumptuously decorated. Flagstone turned to marble to mosaics. Bare walls turned into vivid scenes of battle and victory feasts. They stopped in a lavishly appointed room Hermione didn't recognise. She couldn't really look around as the _gladius_ pressing into her spine seemed to press deeper with every unexpected movement she made. She couldn't see what was before them, the soldier in front of her was too bulky to glance past, or why they had stopped. But she did know the voice that broke the silence.

"You may go."

The _gladius_ suddenly pressed sharply into her back once more before retreating completely. She couldn't help flinching at the spark of pain, and the soft cackle from the guards behind her. But the man before her remained.

"Proconsul, are you certain you wish to be left alone with this one?"

"You are not suggesting I cannot handle one slave alone?" Draco Malfidus' voice was soft when he answered, but only a fool would not have sensed the danger behind his words. And the _Decanus_ was not a fool. He nodded sharply, turned on his heel, gave Hermione a menacing glare and stalked past her without another word.

Hermione remained rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the blond head of the man she had learned to call Master. He was bent over some scrolls at his table, and didn't acknowledge her. The silence between them stretched and stretched, and Hermione began to fidget uncomfortably. Her eyes skidded left and right to see if there was any way out, but it seemed the only exit was behind her, and the murmur of voices suggested she would not have free passage. There were windows high up in the walls that let in the sunlight. It was only when Hermione began to warm up that she realised how cold she'd been before. She was standing right in the middle of a ray of sunshine and the warmth seemed to penetrate her bones and chase out the cold that had nestled there while she was imprisoned. She relished in the feeling, closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun to soak up more of its warmth, letting out a slow breath that released some of her tension.

"Come closer."

Malfidus' voice rang through the room and startled her out of her thoughts. She considered refusing, but the echoing clang of metal on stone behind her reminded her that he had only to utter a cry and the guards would be back. She took a step, then another one, and another one, in obedience to his expectant gaze. She was only a few paces away from the table when he held up his hand, and she stopped.

She didn't know what to expect from this audience. She knew she should be put to death for even just attempting to kill her Master, and he could do it without repercussions. She knew he would never just let it pass.

Her eyes caught the gleam of metal in his right hand and she caught her breath. It was her own knife. She swallowed, her eyes transfixed by the weapon that had failed her. Then she lifted her chin again and met his eyes with defiance. _I am Hermione of the Eburones_ , she thought. _I will die with dignity._

* * *

Draco studied the woman before him with interest. It had taken him some effort to face her, but he knew he could not delay his decision forever. She had started fidgeting when he had purposefully ignored her at first, and when he deemed her discomfited enough, he'd ordered her closer. The conversation they were about to have was not to be overheard. He could see the trepidation, the defiance, the reluctance pass across her face, but she had complied with his order. And when she'd finally noticed the dagger in his hand, she'd looked ashamed at first, disappointed, but then she was back, that fierceness he'd noticed even in the slave market in _Massilia_ , her chin thrust out and her shoulders dropped. He was surprised at the fire that sparked in her eyes when she glared at him, but managed to hide that behind a mask of indifference.

With deliberate slowness he walked around the table and leaned against it. They were close now, hardly a foot between them, but she didn't recoil, not even when he brought the knife up with slow deliberation and began to caress the blade. Her jaw firmed but the fire in her eyes did not waver.

And still she had not spoken a word. She had not begged for her life. She only stared at him. It intrigued him.

"Will you at least do me the courtesy of telling me why you tried to kill me?"

The question seemed to surprise her, yet she pressed her lips together firmly in blatant refusal.

"Come now, ancilla. Speak. You will not get another chance."

He raised an eyebrow in challenge, and again she refused to speak. But he didn't look away, didn't say anything else, just kept running his thumb over the blade of the dagger until, finally she gave in.

"My name is not ancilla," she said, anger fortifying her foreign accent. She seemed to draw herself up to stand a little taller, her eyes burning fiercely, her voice proud and clear. "I am Hermione of the Eburones."

She stared at him as if that statement should explain everything, and when she received nothing but blank incomprehension, her face contorted with fury.

"You killed them all," she spat, leaning in towards him until they were almost nose to nose, heedless of the knife in his hands or the guards outside the room. "You killed them all and you pretend not to know?"

Draco considered his next move carefully. The patronising "I have no idea what you're talking about" died on his lips, as did the equally infuriating "You must be joking."

Instead, he pressed the dagger against her chest, careful not to cut her but hard enough to make her lean back a little.

"Then tell me, Hermione of the Eburones, what the grievance is you believe you should have against me." His voice was soft and just short of pleading. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't respond, that she would wrestle the dagger out of his hands and finish the crime she had failed to commit before. But then she began to speak.

"I watched as your men killed every child in our village. I heard the screams of the women who were raped, then beheaded. I saw how they took all the men prisoner, young and old, able and not. I saw how they put them together in a cage and brought my father out the first of all. They killed every single one of his men in front of him, making him beg for their lives again and again. They tortured and killed my brothers before him. And only when nobody else was left, did they finally kill him. They desecrated my people's bodies in the foulest of ways. And they celebrated on the blood soaked earth for two whole days. Do not tell me, Malfidus, that you have forgotten the way you ravaged my tribe. Do not tell me that you have forgotten you gave that order."

With sudden clarity, Draco understood. He knew what she was talking about, knew who she was and what had happened. He paled and leaned back, dropping the dagger from his hand. The clatter of metal on the floor rang through the room. He drew a deep breath and said, slowly, "Ancilla… Hermione… That wasn't me."

* * *

Hermione was so surprised by his reaction she didn't even realise the dagger was lying right at her feet, within reach. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her vision began to swim, the ground seemed to move beneath her feet and her ears were ringing so loudly she almost couldn't hear herself ask, "What do you mean?"

She had to shake her head repeatedly before she could concentrate on what he was telling her. But some words seemed to penetrate the buzzing in her brain. "Father… _Dux_ … Northern Gallia… Shame…"

Her legs gave way quite suddenly and she found herself seated on the floor, her arms trembling with the effort to keep herself upright.

It isn't him. It isn't him.

The words repeated over and over in her head, louder and louder until the cacophony became too much to bear and she buried her head in her arms to block out the noise.

She didn't notice that the guards had come in or been sent away again. Malfidus didn't approach her or offer her any kind of assistance. He merely waited.

When Hermione had finally silenced the roaring voices in her head, she looked up at him. Her voice trembled when she asked, "It wasn't you? They said they had acted on Malfidus' orders."

Malfidus' lips twitched in barely hidden disgust, but he answered nonetheless, "No. It was my father. He led the attack against the Northern Uprising. He ordered there should be no survivors."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "But you…"

"At the time my father was in _Belgica_ , I was still in Roma, reporting on my negotiations with the tribes in _Brittannia_. I was awarded this post in the Provincia as a reward for my efforts there."

"What happens now?" Hermione asked. Though she knew the answer. The only fate that befell a murderous slave was death itself.

To her surprise, Malfidus remained quiet for a long time. Then he bent closer to her and said, quietly, "Nobody knows you tried to kill me. Nobody but you and me. All they know is that you tried to run away. You were imprisoned for almost two weeks. That is punishment enough for such a foolish act. I know your reasons now, and I believe I should have done the same in your place. I cannot wholly forgive you, ancilla." He paused, then, and she realised he had used the word on purpose to remind her of her place in this world. Her new place.

"But my son is extremely fond of you. So I will not kill you. I believe you do not seek to settle the sins of the father on the son's head, it is the only thing that makes sense, as you have never harmed a hair on my son's head and you had plenty of opportunity to do so while I was away. Is that correct?"

Hermione nodded, though a little reluctantly.

"Then I can trust you do not hold my father's crimes against me, either?"

She nodded again, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Then I will allow you to stay in my household as my son's slave. But you are no longer allowed to be alone with him. There will always be a guard watching you."

Hermione wasn't sure what to feel. The only thing that seemed to stand out in anything he said was that she wouldn't be killed. Not today. She would live. She would continue to teach Scorpius. Her heart soared at the thought of the little boy, but a moment later it felt heavy in her chest again. It also meant she was still a slave.

"Find Flavia and get her to clean you up and give you some food. I expect you to put Scorpius to bed tonight."

He scooped up the dagger and walked around the table again. He bent over a scroll and dismissed her with a wave of the hand.

She had almost walked halfway out of the room when she heard his voice, barely more than a whisper.

"Three years, Hermione of the Eburones, and I will grant you your freedom. That is the promise I make to you in return for the grace you showed me when you did not commit the crime you had planned. But until then, you will remain a slave. That is the punishment for trying."

* * *

 _AN - thank you all so much for all the reviews! I can't believe how popular this story is, it just amazes me every time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the other four._

 _Beta love to hobbit penguin, any remaining mistakes my own._


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.:** Here I am again! I know it's been ages, but I do try to work on it. Life is just hectic at times.

 **History lesson!** I knew you missed that. Some more architectural terms that are coming up in this chapter.

Roman villas were basically built around two square patios. The foremost patio is called the Atrium, this is where the family has its main rooms, the dining room ( _triclinium_ ), office of the patriarch, bedrooms ( _cubiculum_ ). The main entrance to the house gives out on the atrium. It is mostly covered but usually the roof slopes inward and there is a small square in the middle, directly above the centre of the atrium - called the _compluvium_ \- through which rain is caught in the _impluvium_ , a sort of fountain.

Why is the dining room called a _triclinium_ , I hear you ask. Well, because the usual lay-out was: three 'couches' (or _klinai (Greek) or Lectus triclinaris_ ) in a U-shape around a low, square table.

The 'back patio' is called a _perystilium_ , usually laid out as a garden and with the slave quarters, kitchen etc. surrounding it. The Proconsular Palace is a bit bigger than your average villa, of course. It has several offices for the government, reception rooms and so on. The 'official' part is built around a large atrium. The Proconsuls' personal quarters lay beyond the official part and are built more like the traditional villa, with the family rooms surrounding the Atrium, but the slave quarters, _balneum_ (small bath house) and kitchen are a little ways removed from that building (for fire safety. Yes, health and safety did exist at the time). The Palace has a large garden surrounding the personal quarters, where lots of herbs and vegetables are grown. (To be fair, this is poetic license. But there you go. Now you have a lay-out of the place.)

I mention the _Patricii Romani_ in this chapter. In olden times in Ancient Rome, the 'Patrician' families were the highest elite of the nation. They could trace their family line back to the first 100 Senators appointed by Romulus, the legendary Founder of the city. Compare it to Americans who can trace back to the Mayflower, for instance. By the time this story takes place, the distinction is more of nominal importance than anything else, but still something regarded with respect.

 _Patrinus_ is Latin for Godfather.

 _Hispania_ is roughly the area of Spain.

 **TRIGGER WARNING for assault and (attempted) rape (not D/Hr).**

Dear readers, as previously mentioned in passing, this story mentions rape. This chapter has a trigger warning of rape. While I am NOT in any forms glorifying this, it is relevant to this story. In those times, the rape of a slavegirl wasn't necessarily a thing because slaves had no right to turn down their master or even their master's friends. A wife wasn't given permission to say no to even her husband. It shows how times have changed. This is your warning and if you do not wish to read this, please wait for the update in chapter 7.

I'd like to conclude with this, which I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but it won't hurt to repeat: There is not one 'correct' way for a victim of assault react, there is not one 'correct' way to deal with it. Different people react differently and each reaction is valid. Freezing in the face of danger is valid. It happens and it's so very, very hard to overcome. And it's never a case of fight harder, scream louder. The responsibility is never the victim's. Ever.

Right, time to step off my soapbox and get to the story!

* * *

 **Three months later**

"You're staring at her again."

Draco Malfidus turned towards the voice that had startled him out of his reveries. "I was not," he said, more _pro forma_ than as an actual defence.

Theodosius of Nottos stepped up next to him and glanced out to the garden, where Scorpius was playing with his slave. "So it is just coincidence that you are looking out over the gardens and so deep in thought that you do not even respond to any of my comments until I mention her?"

Draco looked out again, his eyes searching and finding the gleaming blond head of his son. His laugh echoed over the garden, and hers followed soon after. He refused to let his eyes rest on her, though. He didn't reply to his friend. There was no point.

"You're a fool, Draco." Theodosius leant on the balustrade, his eyes no longer on the child and slave below, but looking out over the scenery beyond. _Gallia Narbonensis_ was most beautiful in spring, with nature just waking up from an exceptionally cold winter. "You should never have kept her."

"I feel responsible. If it weren't for my father…" Draco stopped. They'd had that discussion often enough in the two weeks that his friend had been there. He didn't want to go into the same argument again.

"And what will you do when your father visits?"

Draco held his breath for just a moment, then let it escape with a hiss. "He won't."

"Maybe not here," Theodosius admitted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But you will go back to the City in less than six months, Draco. You won't escape his presence there. In good conscience, you know you can't. What if she is just biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to kill him?"

Draco's jaw firmed and he closed his eyes in frustration. These were the same thoughts that kept him awake at night. He knew it was foolish, he knew she was dangerous. She had only promised not to harm him or his son. She hadn't forsaken vengeance. Her eyes still burned with rebellious fire at the occasional mention of his father. And yet he could not let her go.

"It's not an issue."

"Not yet." Theodosius pushed away from the balustrade. "This is asking for trouble, Draco, mark my words."

Draco heard his friend's footsteps go inside and disappear. Only then he opened his eyes again, and though he sought his son, he found the dark brown curls of Hermione.

"Hermione." The whispered word fell off his lips with such ease and familiarity it surprised even him. He insisted on addressing her as _ancilla_ , to remind himself as much as her of her position in his household. But in his mind, she was Hermione. Clever, kind, beautiful Hermione. Fierce, protective, vengeful Hermione. He couldn't forget how she had stood before him, defiant and proud, as she pronounced her name and heritage as proudly as any _patricia romana_ who could trace her family back to the Founders of the City.

She plagued his dreams and waking hours, either making him worry and doubt his decision to keep her in his household, or sigh in bliss as he imagined her hands touching him, until he came with almost embarrassing ease at the mere sound of her voice from another room.

Theodosius' visit had been a welcome distraction, but his friend had, all too soon, picked up on the tension between him and his slave. After he'd found out what had happened, Theodosius had been blunt in his opinions - more so than Draco had ever heard him, making him doubt his own decisions even more. It had put a strain on their friendship, as if an invisible wall had been pulled up between them.

Theodosius had been his nearest friend and only support in the last weeks of Astoria's struggle. As a doctor, trained in Athens and Alexandria, the man had tried everything he could think of to stave off the fever and cure her, to no avail. As one of Draco's oldest and dearest friends, he had stood beside him during the difficult moments of loss and mourning. They had been closer than brothers, then. Now they seemed to drift apart. And it was all her fault.

Draco pressed his lips together and frowned at the slave, though she could not see him. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe he should set her free before returning to Rome. He could not risk bringing this woman into his family's home.

He turned away and entered his office, strolling over to the table strewn with parchment and ledgers, trying to clear his head and focus on the work he had neglected for too long.

He didn't see his friend stroll into the garden and purposefully make his way towards the playing child and slave.

* * *

Theodosius stopped behind a pillar and observed the scene before him. Scorpius was laughing and running around happily, dragging a miniature wooden horse and carriage behind him, while the slavegirl cheered him on. To his side, a guard was watching them with a faint smile on his face. The man stiffened almost imperceptibly and turned his head to regard Theodosius, his hand already tight around the handle of his _gladius_ , but as soon as he recognised the Proconsul's guest, he relaxed, nodded kindly and focused on the slave and child again.

Theodosius walked over to him. "I didn't realise this part of the garden was under guard," he remarked lightly.

The guard turned his head towards him with a sharp movement. His green eyes scrutinised Theodosius and he felt like the man could see right through him.

"It isn't," the guard grumbled eventually, his eyes straying back towards Scorpius, his features softening when the boy caught his eye and waved at him. He didn't elaborate further.

"My name is Theodosius of Nottos," Theodosius said, trying to make conversation. "I'm a friend of Malfidus."

"I know."

Theodosius waited, raised an eyebrow expectantly at the man until one corner of his mouth twitched in an effort to suppress a smile. " _Decurio_ Hadrianus Figulus," he said, with a nod. "You know I'm guarding the boy, not the garden."

Theodosius nodded, too, and let his eyes follow Scorpius. He was the child's _patrinus_ and cared for him a great deal. He remembered the last time he'd seen Scorpius, about a year ago, in Rome. His mother had just died and the boy had been morose and clingy. Not unnatural, of course, at the death of a doting mother he had adored in turn. But still, the child that ran around the garden now, playing at gladiators and racing, was leagues removed from the sad, withdrawn boy he'd last seen. "He's much happier now." He hadn't even realised he was talking until Figulus responded, "Yes. The girl is good for him."

Theodosius glanced towards the man and saw the genuine affection in his eyes as he continued, "She's certainly good with children. The Proconsul has allowed me to bring my sons here occasionally, so the boy can play with other children, but he is never as open and carefree around them as he is around that slave."

 _Almost as he had been with his mother._ But Theodosius pushed that idea away quickly. It was simply not done to compare a mere slave with the graceful and loving woman that Astoria had been, no matter her heritage and standing before she was captured and forced into slavery.

Scorpius finally noticed him and came running up to him, talking excitedly, a smile on his beaming face.

" _Ecce_ , _patrinus_ , look what I did! We were playing and I won! And now Hermione is going to give me a prize because I won! Come, you must come, _patrinus_ , see how I get the prize?" His big grey eyes sparkled silver in the sunlight and beamed up at Theodosius with such excitement and love that he couldn't help but give in, allowing the boy to drag him out into the sunshine where the slavegirl was already waiting for them, Scorpius' toys tidied in a neat row and an elaborately decorated branch held reverently in her hands, with all the caution and solemnity a real sword might have demanded. On top of it lay a crown of olive branches.

Scorpius let go of his hand, straightened up and tried to smooth his excited grin into a more serious expression. The slavegirl, too, was looking very serious, though a twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

"Master Scorpius," she began in her lilting accent, "You were the bravest warrior in the fight today. You defeated the wild bear and the lion, and crushed the competition in the horse race. You truly deserve this sword of bravery and the crown of victory. I am honoured to bestow it in your hands." And with a formal bow, she handed him the sword and placed the crown on his head. It was slightly too big and hung crooked over one ear.

Theodosius clapped his hands and allowed himself to yell some encouraging words as Scorpius accepted the sword, bowed solemnly at his slave, and then turned to run circles around the garden, waving the sword above his head and screaming and roaring excitedly.

The slavegirl grinned at him. "I'm glad you decided to play along," she murmured, her eyes now fixed again on her charge. "When you first came over I wasn't sure you would."

"I would do anything for that boy," Theodosius said, his voice unusually serious. The slavegirl stiffened next to him. He was surprised she had picked up on the note of menace he had not managed to stop from seeping into his words.

"He is very easy to love," she said.

"And very easy to hurt." This time, he didn't bother to try to keep the threat from his voice.

The slavegirl snapped her head around to stare at him, eyes wide and uncertain.

"I shouldn't dream of hurting Scorpius," she said, emphasising every word. Her hands closed into fists by her side and her eyes flashed dangerously at him.

"But you attempted to kill his father and you still wish to avenge your family's death on his grandfather," Theodosius said quietly, so as to not be overheard. "Do you not think that would hurt him?"

The slavegirl took a step back as if slapped in the face. "He told you?"

"He tells me everything. I was his closest friend for years. I was there when his wife died. I was there when his life came crashing down. And I will not allow you to do that to him again, _ancilla_."

The slavegirl took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. Then she turned away from him again, sending a tremulous smile at Scorpius, who waved at them.

"Hermione," she said. "If you will threaten me, at least use my name. But make no mistake, I've already seen the worst that humanity has to offer. There is nothing you can say that will make me afraid of you." Theodosius was about to respond when she turned on him again. "But I will not cause trouble for Master Scorpius, and I know what I owe the Master. There is no need for idle threats."

Theodosius studied her, his head cocked to one side and a finger tapping his lips as he considered her words. After a long pause, he finally nodded. "I will personally hold you to that, Hermione."

Their eyes met and they stared at each other, equally suspicious and guarded, but with a mutual, grudging respect that sealed their understanding.

* * *

Draco Malfidus had just finished _cena_ when a messenger appeared in the _triclinium_ and handed him an official looking scroll. He unrolled it and read the few lines of scribbled news, then put the scroll down on the table with a thud.

"I will be ready by the time they arrive," he said to the messenger, dismissing him with an imperious wave of his hand. "Go to the barracks and get fed and washed. My men will look after you."

The messenger left with a low bow.

Theodosius raised an eyebrow at his friend. He had not seen Draco so tense since his wife had fallen ill. "Something wrong?"

Draco let out a hearty curse before pushing the scroll towards Theodosius. "I'm to play host to a mutual acquaintance," he said, his voice carefully bland.

"I see." Theodosius read the words carefully and gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. "It does not say for how long."

"I expect it will be no more than a day or two. They are on their way to _Hispania_ , after all. But it is unexpected."

"It certainly will be interesting to see Zabini again," Theodosius murmured noncommittally.

Draco nodded absently. He was no longer listening to his friend. His mind was running over the last time he had seen Zabini and the comments he had made about Hermione. He could feel his gut clench with fear.

"I'll tell her to stay indoors. Zabini won't be so callous as to enter my private quarters uninvited. And I will most certainly not invite him here," he said, more to himself than to Theodosius.

"Who do you mean?"

Draco just managed to stop himself from using her name in front of Theodosius. The man knew him too well to be fooled by any attempt at indifference. "Scorpius' slave. Zabini wanted her and he hasn't forgotten I snatched her up just before he could."

"Ah."

Draco ignored the too-knowing blue eyes of his friend and tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. At least he had until the morrow to warn her.

* * *

Draco Malfidus let his eyes rove around the great _atrium_. The torches threw dancing shadows on the inner walls of the palace and laughter and singing rang out into the night. The place was filled with soldiers in various states of drunkenness, enough food to feed two legions and several slaves deftly slipping between the seats to fill the empty _poculi_ with yet more wine. He'd have to tell them to add more water soon, but at least his visitors would never say the Proconsul of _Gallia Narbonensis_ was a miser. He'd treated the visiting _centuriae_ to a festive banquet every evening, and today was the last of three days they would be spending in the city before marching on to reinforce the _Hispania_ legion, under the leadership of their revered _tribunus_.

Theodore lay next to him at the table of honour, along with most of the higher officers. Draco was about to address his friend when something niggled at his slightly inebriated brain. He cast another look around the room and suddenly sat up straight on his _lectus triclinaris_. Theodore shot him a questioning glance which turned into a worried frown when he noticed his friend's expression.

Draco clenched one hand into a fist and tried to keep his composure as he asked, with a feigned nonchalance, "Where did Zabini get off to?"

The _centurio_ to his right side shrugged. "He went off into the garden, I believe," he responded, before turning back to his other dinner companion.

* * *

Hermione skipped through the garden on her way to the slave quarters. The well-known path was barely lit by a waning moon, but she hadn't seen Flavia in a few days and was worried about her friend. Malfidus had ordered her to stay with Scorpius night and day, and not to leave the house until he said otherwise, but Scorpius was now asleep, Tertius was watching over him, and Hermione needed to feel the promise of spring on the breeze outside.

She had only made it halfway through the garden, shaking her head at the rather raucous drinking songs that rang out into the night from the other side of the Palace, when a hand shot out and grabbed her arm roughly.

"I knew he was hiding you somewhere," a voice murmured in her ear, and before she could scream, a hand was clutched over her mouth and she was dragged away from the path into the darkness.

She struggled and wriggled and clawed at the arms that held her tight, but the man was too strong. She could barely breathe and her heart was hammering violently in her chest. She could feel the solid metal armour of a soldier's uniform pressed against her back, hear the clang of metal that betrayed the presence of a _gladius_. Her eyes shifted every which way, her hands reaching out desperately, attempting to hold on to branches of bushes or low growing trees, but all she managed to do was rip the skin off her palms.

"You're all mine now," that same deep voice muttered, "Nobody will hear you scream, not with the noise they're making at the other side." The man chuckled darkly, the rumble in his chest trembled against her body and sent a spike of acute panic through her body, so sharp her heart fluttered in her chest, then stopped, and her whole body froze in terror. She knew, with sudden, painful clarity, what was about to happen to her. The only word that kept circling through her brain was _No no no no no NO NO_ but she couldn't bring her legs to kick, she couldn't bring her hands to claw at her assailant, could only wait until she was thrown onto the ground in a secluded part of the garden and the impact shocked her out of her rigour.

A moment later she had recognised Blasius Zabini. "You!" she spat out before she could help herself. Then she realised he had released her mouth, and she opened her lips to shout for help, but her scream was curtailed by a forceful slap to her jaw which left the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

"One more noise and you'll regret it," Zabini said, the gleam of his sword in the dark the only warning before the pointed iron pressed against her throat. Hermione tried to scramble backwards, but he grabbed her ankle and dragged her closer again.

"I knew you were going to be a feisty one," he said, his teeth impossibly white in the night. He knelt over her, using his sword to rip her tunica into pieces. A wad of cotton was pushed into her mouth and fastened around her head before she knew what he was doing.

"I'd love to hear you scream," he murmured, his hand dragging slowly along her body. "But it's a little too risky. And I do want to enjoy my time with you, _ancilla_. Malfidus shouldn't be the only one to have his way."

Hermione stiffened at his touch. _No no no NO NO NO_. Her blood ran cold. She wanted to leave, wanted to run, wanted to push him away, but the sword that was pressing against her throat made it impossible for her to move. She felt his obvious arousal against her abdomen. Her whole body seemed to fold in on itself at the sensation. She gagged and nearly choked on the fabric in her mouth. She couldn't help the tears that began to run down her cheeks, into her ears and hair and down on the sand below her. Rocks pressed sharply into her spine and she tried to focus on that sensation rather than the man above her, but he moved his hands down her body again, his touch lingering on her skin like slimy, sticky mud, all along her chest and abdomen until he reached her thighs.

* * *

Draco and Theodosius walked into the Proconsul's private quarters, relieved to leave the soldiers behind. Draco had done his duty as a host, and Theodosius found no reason to remain behind. But that relief fled as soon as Draco saw Tertius sitting next to the entrance to Scorpius' _cubiculum_.

"Where is the girl?" he barked out, sharper than he had intended to be.

Tertius scrambled to his feet. "She went out to see Flavia, Master," he murmured. "She'll be back any moment."

But Draco had stopped listening. Flavia was in the slave quarters. She'd have gone through the garden. And Zabini…

He began to run towards the garden even before he had finished that train of thought, Theodosius following close on his heels after telling Tertius to stay with the boy. He grabbed a torch from its fitting and ran after Draco, cursing under his breath. Draco ran towards the slave quarters, but suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. In the flickering light of the torch, they could see a scuffle of footprints on the dusty path, and branches snapped and bent along a path leading deeper into the garden.

At that very moment, they heard a soft cry, abruptly cut off, from somewhere at the very back of the garden, and without a word they had both changed direction and started making their way towards the sound. No other noise came to guide them for what seemed like an eternity. Finally heard low mutterings and they quickened their pace to find its source.

Draco came into the clearing, his heart beating in his chest, anger, fear and panic clawing at his breath. He took in the scene before him in an instant and reacted without thinking. He jumped forwards, tearing Zabini off Hermione with a raw cry of anger. His fist connected with Zabini's jaw again and again until a painful, satisfying crunching sound penetrated the haze of violent anger he had been caught in. Zabini, too stunned by the sudden blow to his head he'd received when being thrown off the girl, had barely fought back, and Draco began to realise he would not be in any state to do so any time soon. He brought his face close to Zabini's and hissed in his ear, "If you ever show your face in my house again, Zabini, I will kill you. I will kill you slowly and painfully." He pressed his hand against Zabini's already swelling jaw, and the man let out a whine of agony. "You will go back to your quarters and leave tomorrow with your men. Don't come back, Zabini. I'll make your life hell."

Then he pushed away from the man, still disgusted with what he had been trying to do, and focused his attention on Hermione. Theodosius had torn the rags from her mouth but now she just sat there, curled up in a ball, shivering, taking deep, heaving breaths, unresponsive to anything he said to her. He looked up at Draco, indecision and discomfort written all over his face. Draco came over and reached out towards Hermione, but she shrank back from his touch. He dropped his hand and stepped a little closer, kneeling before her so their eyes were at the same level.

He began to speak in a soft, persuasive tone. "Hermione, I won't hurt you. But we need to get away from here, now. Let me help you, please." He stretched out his hand again, and this time she didn't recoil. She allowed him to pick her up in his arms. "Go to the slave quarters and ask Flavia to come to the balneum. I'll take her there but it'll be better for her if Flavia is with her," he said to Theodosius, who nodded and disappeared with the torch, leaving Draco and his charge in near-complete darkness. He carefully made his way towards the _balneum_ , his feet finding the way out of habit while his eyes still struggled to adjust to the faint moonlight.

"I'll get him for this," Draco murmured against her hair. "I will." She didn't seem to listen but she clung to his toga as if he was the only thing that kept her afloat in a storm.

* * *

Hermione barely registered that the clawing hands were gone from her skin, the weight that held her down had disappeared and the cold iron of the sword slid uselessly onto the ground beside her. The sudden light of the torch blinded her and when she felt new hands reach out to her, she curled into herself, away from more men trying to touch her.

It was only when Malfidus spoke her name, so softly, so gently, that she began to pay attention to her surroundings again. She finally recognised Theodosius, who was holding the torch, and Draco Malfidus, who was kneeling in front of her, his face filled with compassion and hesitation. When she saw his hand reach out, she didn't recoil. She heard, somewhere in the back of her head, a soft echo of Flavia's voice, telling her that their master was a kind and generous man who would never abuse them, only just audible over the panic still roaring in her ears. She clung to him, hoping for safety in his arms.

She only noticed he had carried her to the _balneum_ when he deposited her on a stone bench and the damp, hot air of the baths surrounded her and finally dulled her fear. He tossed her a bathing wrap and stepped away from her.

But with the fear gone, the shame arose, sharp, sickening, drowning. She should have been more careful. She should have listened to Malfidus when he told her to stay in the house with Scorpius. She should have fought harder. She should have…

"It's not your fault," Malfidus said sharply. Hermione's head shot up, her eyes searching his face.

"It is not your fault," he repeated. "Zabini is a swine." The hot air made his cheeks flush and he turned around suddenly, keeping his back to her. "Flavia will be here presently, and I will send guards to wait outside and escort you back to the house safely. You need not fear he will try again." He took a step towards the door.

"Wait with me?" Hermione's voice was raspy and ragged, her tongue and mouth dry as dust from the rags he'd forced into her mouth to muffle her screams. There was still a metallic taste of blood where her teeth had cut her cheek and she had forced the words out purely because she was more afraid to be alone, than to be with Malfidus in the place where she'd once tried to kill him.

Malfidus seemed to hesitate but then nodded. He remained standing with his back to her, his head slightly bowed.

Hermione tried to calm herself down. The fear had made her blood rush through her body and left her restless and anxious. Her mind was still going over what had just happened, what that man had tried to take from her, how she hadn't been able to defend herself, and she felt, somehow that she needed to take back control. She wanted to regain that part of her. Her eyes fell on Malfidus. Malfidus, who would never have abused her like that. Her legs were still a little shaky as she stepped up to him, but she ignored the tremor in her limbs. She put a hand on his shoulder. He tensed at her touch. Her hand ran lightly from one shoulder to the other and he let out a trembling sigh.

"What are you doing?" he asked without turning around.

"I think you know," Hermione said, one hand running down over his back. Her voice shook with unspoken emotion. _I want it back. What he took from me. Let me take it back._

"You'll regret that in the morning, _ancilla_." His voice sounded strained and tense in her ears but she ignored it. Her nails dug into his skin with sudden ferocity.

"Don't call me that," she hissed. "He called me that. Don't ever call me that again. Please."

Draco drew in a sharp breath. He barely felt the nails digging into his shoulder and back, but the words had struck him like no physical blow ever could. He turned around, his hands catching hers and gently holding them by her side.

"Hermione," he breathed. He'd sworn he'd never use her name to her face, had known it would betray too much, but he had no other choice. Not now.

Her hands made to rise and reach out to him again, but he tightened his grip a little to stop her movement.

"I don't sleep with my slaves, Hermione."

She stared at him, anger, shame, bewilderment whirling in her eyes. "Why not?"

"Because that's no better than what he tried to do. And I won't. I just won't. My father did. He broke her and I swore I would never do the same."

"I want to," Hermione said, anger now rising to overwhelm every other feeling. It was easier to be angry. "It's not the same if I want to."

But Draco only shook his head. "I will not sleep with my slaves."

"Then set me free."

From the look on her face, Draco knew that the words had surprised her as much as him. He was saved from having to give her an answer by the arrival of Flavia and Theodosius. He stepped away from her at the sound of their voices, and she, suddenly blushing violently, turned around and went back to the bench.

Flavia entered with brisk steps. She only took one look at Hermione, at her ripped tunica and the scratches on her hands and body that had turned glaring red on her pale skin, at the bruises that blossomed black and blue on her arms and wrists.

"Out! Both of you! Leave!" she said sharply to Draco and Theodosius, gesturing towards the door, and though he should have taken offence at her tone and demeanour, Draco merely nodded at her, and both he and Theodosius left the building.

Flavia turned to Hermione and soon sat down next to her, her arms wrapped around the girl in comfort. "Oh my dear girl," she muttered, "my beautiful, strong girl. I'm so sorry."

It was only then that Hermione began to cry.

* * *

 **Special thanks to PierreJ92 and SlytherinPrincess1994 for looking this over for me. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**


	7. Chapter 7

**_AN:_** _Wow, this chapter came along a lot quicker than the previous... six? LOL! Fingers crossed the muse continues to be so kind, but I won't make promises._

 _I want to thank all of you who voted me into the finals of the Dramione Forum Awards - this story didn't win, but I'm still overwhelmed and all fluffy inside knowing this story mattered enough to people to get into the finals. Thank you so much. I love you all!_

 ** _History lessons_**

 _So let's have a closer look at the laws again. We've already established a Master may treat his slaves any which way he wants, and they have very little recourse. It was, in general, considered to be bad form to abuse slaves, especially that rare commodity of educated slaves, but that didn't mean it was necessarily against the law. The law_ _did give slaves more rights as time passed, but in general an owner could still pretty much do what they wanted. Slaves could suffer corporal punishment (prohibited on Roman Citizens) or even execution at the hands of their owners and at their discretion. I guess we can say Draco was among the more honourable of slave owners..._

 _However, that doesn't mean other people could do what they wanted with a slave who belonged to someone else... According to Roman Law, if someone purposefully injured or killed his slave, a Master could initiate legal proceedings against this person. They would be recompensed, usually by receiving whatever the highest value was for that slave over the past year. Slaves fell under the same rule as cattle in that respect. So Zabini certainly broke the law with what he attempted to do, even if Hermione was 'only' a slave and had no 'personhood' under Roman Law, she is Draco's property and therefore any damage done to her by anyone but Draco can be brought to the courts. More or less._

 _ **Temple architecture**_

 _Roman temples would usually be built inside a large courtyard. Temples sat on high platforms. A flight of stairs at the front would lead up to a colonnade_ _of decorative (and architecturally necessary) pillars_ _, underneath the elaborately decorated and painted triangular pediment, with an empty, covered space behind the pillars, called the portico. This would then lead onto high, heavy doors that lead into the main building, or cella, where an effigy of the relevant God or Goddess would be worshipped. In general, the masses would not go into the actual temple, only the temple servant, priests and acolytes go into the cella. At least, that's what they told me in Bath, so I'll go with that. It may well depend on the God or Goddess whether or not the 'normal folk' were welcome in the most sacred area of worship._

 _ **Fun fact**_

 _I spent a long time researching this but according to contemporary writings about the city, there actually was a temple for Minerva in Narbo so this is historically correct, even if I have no idea what that particular temple would have looked like. But I can claim some artistic license there. Minerva is a Roman Goddess often affiliated with wisdom and strategic warfare (the latter of which she adopted when she was equated to the Greek Athena), as well as the arts and medicine, and reportedly burst from old Iuppiter's head, fully grown and clad in armour, after giving him a terrible headache battering against his skull to be let out. She often 'absorbed' any worship to the local Goddesses in the Celtic territories, for instance, in Bath (Somerset, UK), the hot springs were originally dedicated to the Goddess Sulis, hence the Latin name of the town, Aquae Sulis or Waters of Sulis, and the temple built there by the Romans honoured "Minerva Sulis". This kind of practise kept the locals happy because their gods weren't dismissed and allowed the Romans to keep control at the same time. Similar things happened all over Europe in the conquered lands._

 ** _Vocab recap_**

 _cubiculum = bedroom  
_ _atrium = inner courtyard in a Roman villa  
tunica = basic piece of clothing both men and women wore in that time period (maybe a piece on clothing next lesson?)  
balneum = private bathing house  
gladius = military sword  
caldarium = the hot pool in a bathing house  
lecticula = covered chair to transport people in, usually carried by two or more slaves  
acolita = female acolyte, someone training to become a priest(ess)  
Salve = greeting, like "ave", something like "hello, welcome, be blessed"_

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Blood curdling screams ripped through the silence of the night, startling Draco out of his dreams. It took him a few moments before he realised the screams came from inside his home, but by then he was up and running towards Scorpius' _cubiculum_ before he really knew what he was doing. He didn't even bother throwing on a _tunica_. Theodosius stumbled from his own _cubiculum_ in a similar state of undress, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking around rather dazed. Two guards burst in from the Palace _atrium_ , carrying torches in one hand and _gladius_ drawn in the other.

They crowded around the entrance to Scorpius' room, where the noise came from, but were arrested by the sight before them.

Hermione lay in a corner on the floor, screaming and thrashing around, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. Scorpius sat by her head, teary-eyed and clearly terrified, but stubbornly reaching out to pat her hair in an attempt to comfort her, and nudging her shoulders to wake her up. Draco motioned the guards back and was about to step into the room when Hermione sat up with a loud gasp, her eyes wide open and dancing wildly around the room. She noticed the men in the doorway and shrank away, only to bump into Scorpius at her back. She snapped her head around, fear written all over her face, but when she recognised the boy, she let out a sob, reached out and pulled him into her lap. He clung to her; his hands scrunched up in her _tunica_ , his shoulders trembling as he cried. She held on to him with equal desperation, her face hidden in his hair, rocking to and fro, trying to soothe both him and herself.

Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been keeping in. He didn't know which had upset him more, the sight of his son, so terrified by Hermione's nightmare, Hermione's suffering, or the two of them clinging to each other as if they were all they had in this world. He turned around and sent the others away, his ears straining to hear Hermione's mumbled words of comfort and his son's quiet sniffles.

He blamed himself for the upset. He had wanted her to stay in the house instead of the slave quarters that night. He had wanted to keep her close, protected, safe, and, short of his own _cubiculum_ , Scorpius' room had seemed to be the best place for her. He'd silenced her faint objections by saying his son needed her to be there if he woke up in the night. He hadn't counted on her having a nightmare, screaming the house down and scaring his son in the process. He couldn't really blame her for that, though. The harrowing experience she'd had only that night would give anyone nightmares.

Draco stayed in the doorway, watching Hermione and Scorpius, unsure if he should move further into the room to comfort his son, or stay away to give Hermione her space. Scorpius' cries soon turned to sniffles, and eventually died down entirely, a little snore reassuring Draco he'd fallen asleep in Hermione's arms. Hermione herself soon followed, exhausted from the ordeal of that night, comforted by the heavy weight of a four year old in her arms. She didn't wake up when Draco picked both of them up and laid them in Scorpius' bed, careful not to untangle them. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at them both, before he went back to his own bed. He knew he couldn't let Zabini get away with this, and a plan was finally forming in his mind.

* * *

Draco ended the letter with a determined stroke under his name. He read it over, then rolled it up and sealed it. He didn't want to give himself the chance to change his mind. At that moment, Theodosius walked into his office. Draco didn't even bother greeting him.

"How is she?"

"It won't be the last time she has a nightmare, Draco." Theodosius' voice was weary, though less from exhaustion than resignation.

Draco raised an eyebrow at his friend. He'd asked him to look after Hermione's wounds after the first meal of the day while he took Scorpius with him to his office. He didn't want to leave the boy with the slavegirl if she couldn't take care of him properly, and from the black and blue bruises on her wrists and arms, the scratches on her hands and the careful, fragile way she walked around, he suspected she wasn't up to the task just yet. He didn't expect her to be. But Theodosius' non-answer irritated him.

"I didn't mean that. Those bruises looked nasty. Will you be able to heal her?"

Theodosius shrugged and settled down at the other side of the desk. His eyes briefly sought out Scorpius, who sat in a corner, playing with a wooden horse on wheels. The boy was far from his usual self, a lot more quiet and subdued, still too shaken by the memory of Hermione's screams.

"I bandaged the hands. The bruises will take some time. Most of the other scratches are superficial and Flavia did a good job on cleaning them. I don't expect any issues there, but these kind of attacks often leave more damage in a woman's mind than her body, you know? She'll have nightmares for a while, still."

Draco nodded, his fingers toying with the letter he'd just finished. Of course he could have brought Zabini to justice, charged him with defiling his property and let the law have a go at him. But a mere slap on the wrist - which was the most he'd expect from such a course of action - was hardly enough. No, he had a better plan. His lips curled up in triumphant sneer when he thought of how he could avenge her.

Theodosius' voice cut through his thoughts. "Don't let this cloud your judgement even more, Draco."

Draco stiffened and sat back, a frown crossing his face. He threw a quick glance at Scorpius, but the boy didn't seem to be paying them any attention. He leaned back a little in his chair, placing both hands flat on his desk with careful deliberation. He took a deep breath, preparing to respond though the words were still tumbling around in his mind, but he was interrupted by Theodosius, who spoke again, more quietly this time, yet somehow with more emphasis.

"She's not Adria."

Draco opened his mouth but the words remained stuck in his throat. His breath escaped in a long, low hiss, that made Scorpius look around, half excited and half frightened, to see if there were snakes about, but once he realised it was his father, he turned back to his toys with a disinterested shrug.

The two men stared at each other, their eyes meeting in a battle of will power that neither was willing to lose. Eventually, Draco was the one to look away first and break the silence between them.

"I know that."

Theodosius got up from his seat and leaned over the desk. "Sometimes I wonder. Is that why you're being so irrational about that slavegirl? Is it Adria you see, not Hermione?"

Draco pushed himself up until his face was barely a hairsbreadth from Theodosius'. "You're overstepping, Theodosius," he said quietly. "And I think you know that very well."

Theodosius straightened his back slowly, boredom written all over his face as if he had not just broken the one silent agreement between them on which their very friendship was founded. "I think I'll look around for a place here in Narbo. I hear there's quite enough work for another medicus and I like the climate," he said casually, changing topics so suddenly it surprised Draco.

Scorpius jumped up and ran over to Theodosius, a bright smile on his face. "Oh _patrinus_ , are you staying? Really? Will you take me to the _Circus_? Do you promise? And can we…" He babbled on excitedly, not very bothered by the fact that neither his father nor Theodosius seemed to give him any attention.

"You're very welcome to stay here," Draco said over his son's babble. Irritated though he was with Theodosius for bringing up the one event from his youth neither of them were ever supposed to mention, he didn't want his friend to feel like he was no longer welcome under his roof. "Good friends can have a difference of opinion without breaking the friendship."

Theodosius didn't reply immediately. He bent down to pick up Scorpius and threw him in the air a couple of times, until the boy's amused laughter rang through the room and dispersed any lingering ill feeling. Then he set him down again, promised all Scorpius wanted to hear, and pushed him towards his toys.

Only when the boy was engrossed in his own games again, he turned towards Draco, a hint of regret and apprehension in his eyes.

"Thank you for the invitation," he said cautiously, "but that would not be the best solution. I think you're heading for disaster with that girl, Draco. And I know there's nothing I can do to stop you or make you see sense, not if I haven't managed it by now. You can't expect me to stay here and bear witness, you can't expect me to share your table when there is such a deep divide between us. I cannot silence my worries, and that would only strain our friendship further."

Draco sat back down with a sigh. "You're probably right." He let Theodosius' words turn around in his mind again and again, hurt by their estrangement but understanding his friend's point. The silence between them grew thick, oppressive and clammy like the air in a _caldarium_. "Who knew a woman could ever come between us?" Draco let out a mirthless laugh that echoed sadly through the room, a stark contrast with the happy laughter of his son, only moments ago.

Theodosius shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She doesn't, not really. But you know this situation, as it is now, cannot last. She's trouble. You just need to make a decision. And you know I'll support you, no matter what you decide." He held out his hand, and Draco did not hesitate to shake it.

* * *

Theodosius tended to Hermione's hands every morning for seven days. The other scratches would easily heal by themselves, but the wounds on her hands, when not bandaged, opened up at the slightest movement or touch. It had made Hermione effectively useless in the Malfidus household. She couldn't tend to Scorpius, she couldn't help with the chores, and she knew the other slaves had started to talk behind her back. So when he told her it would be best not to keep her hands bandaged any longer, she sighed in relief.

"Arnica paste every day," he said, "and no scratching. You still need to be careful, the wounds are very sensitive and will bleed if you move your hands too much. But you'll be fine."

Hermione let out an incredulous snort.

Theodosius looked up, the half-smile he'd had on his lips fading. "Don't let him break you, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't stand the pity in his eyes. She turned away from him and didn't respond.

Theodosius quietly continued rubbing fresh arnica paste onto the wounds and bruises until it had soaked into her skin, then washed his hands in a bowl of water brought to him by another slave. He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "You've seen such horrors and they didn't stop you from living. You can't let this stop you either."

Hermione stood up, drawing the long sleeves of her _tunica_ down over her arms to hide the fading bruises from sight. They had gradually changed colour, from glaring black and blue to green and yellow, over the course of a few days. Her long sleeves really were too hot for summer, but they covered the bruises, as long as she didn't move her arms too much. She could no longer see his fingerprints on her arm, though she still felt his grip whenever she closed her eyes.

"It's not that easy. The _guilt_ …" Her voice rasped with the strain of disuse. She hadn't spoken much since that night. Her throat had hurt too much to speak the first day, and after that it had just been easier not to. The only one who could induce her to speak at all was Scorpius, darling Scorpius. Hermione's eyes filled with tears she hastily tried to wipe away as she thought of the little boy. Malfidus had taken him into his office today. He'd done that almost every day now. He said it was to teach him about his family history and responsibilities, but Hermione knew he only wanted to relieve her of her duties and make her life easier in the aftermath of her attack.

"It's not your fault." Theodosius repeated the words Draco Malfidus had uttered that evening, and for a moment she was back in the _balneum_. A blush crept up her cheeks as she remembered the desperate way she'd asked him… She shook her head violently to stop the thought.

"I feel guilty for not trying to kill him," she said, a sudden fire in her eyes. "If I'd thought clearly, I should have realised that it would have been the perfect moment. He'd all but forgotten about his _gladius_." Her hand went up to her throat, where a thin, red line remained, a silent witness of the sharp blade cutting into her skin. "If I'd thought about what mattered, I could have taken it off of him and killed him. I could have avenged my family. I could have avenged my people. But I only thought about myself."

Theodosius shook his head slowly. His brilliant blue eyes studied her with such intensity she squirmed under his attention. "You realise that if you had done that, Draco would have had no choice but to have you killed in turn?"

She shrugged and wanted to turn away, but Theodosius stepped in front of her again and, with a finger under her chin, forced her to look up to him.

"What happened to your people was horrible. Believe me when I tell you that both Zabini and Malfidus have lost more than you could be aware of because of their choices then. But you, Hermione, still have your life before you. Don't forget that. You survived. You survived a massacre. You survived that attack. The Gods look upon you with some favour. Can you not see that?"

She couldn't find the words to respond, but he wasn't fazed by her silence. He just kept staring at her with those intensely blue eyes, as if searching her face for the answer she could not verbalise. Then he nodded at her and left. She stared after him, open-mouthed and confused.

* * *

Draco watched Hermione from his office overlooking the garden. He'd managed to keep his distance while making life a little easier for her, keeping Scorpius with him for days on end under the guise of instructing him in their family history. He had a feeling she saw right through his excuses but she hadn't objected. Now she was sitting with Flavia and two other slaves in the garden, staring at her hands and not engaging in the conversation between the other three. He knew he must find some way to draw her out of herself, but he couldn't risk being near her.

 _Then set me free._

Refusing her had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. To be offered that which he had dreamed of, so desperately, so insistently, had almost been too tempting. Almost. He had never come this close to breaking his most solemn vow.

 _Then set me free._

He couldn't forget that evening, not the way his rage had overtaken him when he saw what Zabini was up to, not the way she had touched him, not her fingers so soft on his shoulders and neck, not those desperate words falling from her lips…

 _Then set me free._

He clenched his hands into fists and held his breath until his chest burned with the need for air.

Scorpius tugged at the folds of his toga and he turned towards his son with a smile on his face.

"Father, can we maybe go to the temple?" His face was unusually serious as he looked up at his father, his grey eyes clouded with worry.

"Of course we can, son. But will you not tell me why you want to go?"

Scorpius looked away from his father, his hands clasped behind his back, wriggling uncomfortably as he muttered something under his breath.

"What was that you said?"

Scorpius sighed and, staring at the floor, his foot tracing the lines of the mosaic decorations, "I want to ask the Goddess Minerva to heal Hermione, Father."

Draco blinked. His mouth opened but no words came out.

Scorpius looked up, saw his father's surprised expression and looked back down, his shoulders slumped with obvious defeat. At first, he seemed to want to slink away, but then his entire demeanour changed. He straightened his back and thrust his chin out, a stubborn look in his eyes.

"She's been crying so much since her hands were cut, father. I just want her to stop crying so we can play again. So I want to ask the Goddess Minerva to heal her hands again."

Draco kneeled down and pulled his son into his arms. "I don't know what I did to deserve such a good and caring son, but I thank the Gods that your heart is so pure," he murmured. Then he let go of Scorpius, who looked a little confused. "We'll go to Minerva's temple and take Hermione. Then you can make an offering to the Goddess and make your request."

Draco straightened himself up again and pushed Scorpius towards the door. "Go and find her, Scorpius, and tell her to prepare to go out."

* * *

Hermione entered the temple courtyard with some trepidation. Malfidus had brushed aside all her objections, that she didn't believe in his Gods and Goddesses, that she wasn't ready to leave the house yet, that she really didn't need this kind of attention…

He'd listened to her arguments with such patience it made her even more annoyed. Then he'd looked at her and said, "But Scorpius wants to do this for you." And she hadn't been able to object to that.

The _lecticula_ had carried Scorpius and herself, while Malfidus rode to the temple on horseback, and they had been surrounded by a group of a dozen or so cavalry men. She couldn't argue not feeling safe when Scorpius sat on her lap, chattering excitedly and stroking the back of her hand so reverently. It had, in fact, tickled, but she hadn't had the heart to tell him to stop.

"The Temple of _Minerva Medica_ is that way," Malfidus said over his shoulder, taking Scorpius by the hand to prevent him from running off, and setting a brisk pace towards the entrance. Hermione had to hurry to follow them. She felt like everyone was staring at her, like they could see what had happened to her and judged her for it. She bowed her head and cringed away from the intrusive looks.

She almost missed that first impressive sight of the temple of Minerva, high on its platform overlooking the courtyard, the pediment above the colonnade painted with the story of her birth in vivid colours.

A young _acolita_ in dark blue _tunica_ came up to them. Her long, white hair flowed on her back and she seemed to be wearing flowers in her hair.

" _Salve amici Minervae_ ," she said, her arms open in a welcoming gesture. "How may we serve the Proconsul today?" Her strange, grey eyes focused on Draco Malfidus, who nodded towards his son. He patted the boy on the shoulder.

"Go on," he said, "Tell her."

Scorpius held out his favourite toy, a wooden soldier with brass sword, and offered it to the _acolita_. "I wish to ask the Lady Minerva to heal my slave. She hurt her hands," he said. "This is my sacrifice."

When she laid her hand on it, his lips trembled a little, and, for a moment, his fingers closed around the toy soldier and he seemed to reconsider his gift to the Goddess, but then he let go quite suddenly, turned around and hid his face in his father's toga.

"And who is your slave?" the _acolita_ asked.

Scorpius didn't turn around but an arm shot out and pointed vaguely in Hermione's direction. The dark grey eyes of the girl seemed to appraise Hermione, then she bowed at them and smiled.

"Your offering is most welcome. I shall take it to the High Priestess."

A moment later, she was gone, as if she had never been there in the first place.

Hermione stepped a little closer to Malfidus and Scorpius. "What is going on?" she asked quietly. These strange customs with buildings to worship the Gods were beyond her. Was not Nature the best place to pay your respects?

Malfidus didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on the entrance of the building. The _acolita_ had nimbly skipped up the steps that led to the portico and he expected the High Priestess to appear in the doorway to the _cella_ soon. He hoped the offer would be acceptable. Scorpius had, after all, insisted it should be his own favourite toy, not the stack of coins his father had wanted to offer.

"The _acolita_ will present the offering to the High Priestess. She then decides if Minerva will deign to accept it or not."

He placed a hand on his son's head. He'd started to look around curiously again but still clung to his father's toga with some degree of trepidation.

They saw the massive doors of the _cella_ open and the _acolita_ came out again, her hands empty. She skipped down the steps and walked up to them with a beaming smile.

"The Goddess is pleased to accept your offer," she said. Then she looked at Hermione and held out a hand. "If you will come with me, the High Priestess has suggested your wounds may benefit from cleansing with the Sacred Water."

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked questioningly at Malfidus.

The man nodded encouragingly. "Go with her. Scorpius and I will wait for you here."

* * *

Hermione followed the young woman to a small side building. They walked in, the door closing behind them. Hermione spun around in sudden panic, but the girl put a hand on her arm to reassure her, and, reluctantly, she turned back. The room was not as elaborately decorated as the main entrance of the Temple but the mosaics on the far wall depicted a stern-looking woman in full armour, an owl sitting at her feet. Torches illuminated roughly hewn walls with smooth, white benches alongside them, but her eyes were drawn by the glimmering green pool at the effigy's feet.

"My name is Luna," the acolita said. "I serve Minerva the Divine. What is your name?"

"Hermione."

Luna nodded, as if she hadn't expected any other response.

"Come with me, Hermione." She led Hermione to the edge of the pool and kneeled down alongside it, gesturing towards Hermione to do the same.

Hermione knelt down and rested her hands in her lap, palms towards her knees.

"I don't know why I'm here. I don't mean any disrespect, Luna, but I serve other Gods."

Luna smiled enigmatically. "We've been waiting to see you here, Hermione of the Eburones. What makes you think your Three-faced Goddess is not manifesting her powers through my Minerva? We are no enemies."

Hermione sucked in her breath, the fabric of her _tunica_ crunching up between her fingers. "How do you know who I am?"

Luna didn't respond, she only smiled and held out her hands, palms facing upwards. "Minerva accepted the boy's sacrifice. You know what that toy meant to him. Surely you won't forsake him?"

Hermione sighed and put her own hands in Luna's, palms facing upwards. Some of the scratches had opened again and fresh blood was welling up on her hands. She looked away.

They sat like that for the longest time, Luna quietly holding Hermione's hands and Hermione staring into the green water, her eyes trying to discern the stones at the bottom of the pool, if only to distract herself from the confusing thoughts rolling around in her head.

"It's not your hands that need healing, but your soul."

Hermione's head whipped around to Luna. "What?"

Luna sent her another enigmatic smile but didn't repeat her words.

"Let the healing waters of the Goddess Minerva take away your pain."

She held one of Hermione's hands over the pool, scooped up the water with a golden cup and poured it over her hand and wrist, then did the same to her other hand. She repeated the act several times, and each time Hermione felt more and more fragile, as if more than just her cuts and blood were being washed away. She began to sob, first quietly, then more uncontrollably, and still Luna continued to pour water over her hands as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Hermione thought of what had happened to give her those scrapes. She thought of her family. She thought of the soldiers she had killed with the poisoned mushrooms. She thought of little Scorpius who had wanted her to heal. She thought of Draco Malfidus, whom she had tried to kill, but who had been so kind to her. She cried for all of them.

Finally her tears abated and Luna ended her ritual, drying Hermione's hands with a soft cloth, then giving her some time to wipe the tear tracks from her face. Hermione wanted to get up, but Luna stopped her.

"Minerva is not only the Goddess of Healing, Hermione. She is also the Goddess of Wisdom. And that is why I'm telling you this. You must make a choice. Will you look for a purpose in what is buried in the past, or in what is before you in the future? One path will definitely lead you to death and destruction. The other, possibly, to life and happiness. Think about that, Hermione of the Eburones, before you let the hatred lead you even further. The Gods have spared you so far. Perhaps it is time to honour that gift."

Before Hermione could react, Luna rose up and helped her stand as well.

"Your Master will be waiting, and I need to return to my other duties," Luna said as they walked, arm in arm, towards the door. "But I should like it if you came by again some time, Hermione. Please do. You will always be welcome in Minerva's House."

With that, she opened the door and led Hermione back to Malfidus. Hermione was blinded and disoriented by the sudden blaze of sunlight after spending so much time in the dimly lit, secluded room, but Scorpius ran up to her to take her hand and lead her back to the _lecticula_ , and Malfidus seemed to walk just a little bit too close behind her, as if he was ready to catch her should she fall. She didn't listen to Scorpius' excited babbling as they were carried back home, her mind still reeling from all that had happened.

It was only when they had almost reached the Proconsular Palace that Hermione realised that the red scratches on her hands were now thin, pink lines of freshly healed skin.

* * *

 _ **AN**_ **-** _massively big thanks to Pierrej92 for betaing this chapter! Any remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Hope you enjoyed this, let me know what you think!_


	8. Chapter 8

**_History lesson_**

 _Let's talk about the Roman calendar. Or rather, in the age that this takes place, the reformed Julian calendar, which was in use in most of Western Europe and the European settlements in other parts of the world until the 1500s when it was replaced with the Gregorian calendar, which is still in use today in the Western world._

 _The Julian Calendar, so called because it was implemented by Julius Caesar, has a regular year of 365 days divided in 12 months. Every four years there is a leap year and an extra day is added to the month of Februarius. Sounds familiar, right?_

 _The twelve months of the Julian Calendar are Ianuarius, Februarius, Martius, Aprilis, Maius, Iunius, Iulius (Quintilis before the death of Julius Caesar), Augustus (Sextilis before the death of the Emperor Augustus), September, October, November and the year started in Martius, which is why July - Quintilis - used to be the fifth month, September the seventh (septem) etc. The Julian calendar changed that but the months retained their original names._

 _The days were calculated around certain set days. Calendae was the name of the first day of a new month. The Idus (or Ides) was usually the 15th day. Any day after that would be named like "Nth day before the Calendae of (next month)". The days before the Ides would be named as "Nth day before the Ides of (current month)", except for those days that fell between the Calendae and the Nonae. The Nonae fell either on the fifth or the seventh of a month, and the days preceding it would be named "Nth day before the Nonae of (month)". Complicated? Just imagine what that looks like when they use abbreviations..._

 _The Calendae, Nonae and Idus were usually days on which some kind of religious festival would take place. They had lots of religious festivals._

 _The Romans also had 24 hour days but they were calculated differently. There were 12 hours of daytime and 12 hours of nighttime, so in summer the night hours would be shorter, and in winter they would be longer. This is, of course, because they measured time with sun dials. So the first hour of the day could be as early as five in the morning or as late as eight, compared to our current timekeeping. An hour could be 45 minutes or 75 minutes, depending on the season and in which part of the Roman empire you were._

 _Anyway, quick geography lesson: Lusitania is more or less current-day Portugal. The Picts were a tribe that lived in the North of the British Isles. It's unknown who they are related to, there is very little known about their language, customs and writing. They were never conquered by the Romans. One of the most impressive Roman remains in Britain is Hadrian's Wall, which was built basically to mark the border and keep the Picts out. They weren't very fond of the Romans._

 _On to the story! Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

As Spring turned into Summer, Theodosius left the Proconsular Palace and settled in a house in the North-Eastern quadrant of the town. He still visited the Palace often, and Draco was always happy to see him. They took _cena_ together at least once a week, and Theodosius always made time for his godson. By mutual agreement, they never mentioned Hermione.

The visit to Minerva's temple did have an effect on Hermione. She seemed lighter, somehow, and happier. She sang Scorpius to sleep again and no longer woke up screaming from nightmares. Draco pretended he only knew that because Scorpius told him, but the truth was that he immediately noticed every little change in her behaviour. He noticed that her step became more confident, that she walked with her head high again, that she laughed and played with Scorpius as before, that she stopped to smell the lavender bushes and ran her hand through the rosemary to diffuse its scent into the air. He noticed everything. It was a good thing Theodosius was no longer there every day to remind him that he really shouldn't be noticing anything.

* * *

Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on how the visit to Minerva's temple had changed her, but it had, and not just because her hands were now healed. It was as if the water at the temple had washed away more than just her scratches. Everything seemed somehow different now. It was almost as if the world had changed completely; colours were brighter than she had ever seen them, flowers seemed more fragrant, the air was more invigorating. She still slept in Scorpius' room, but no longer suffered from nightmares.

Where before it had been hard to face the stares and whispers of the other slaves, she now met them head-on, shoulders thrown back and chin up, as if to challenge anyone to give her grief. She'd survived. She _would_ survive.

The Master's behaviour to her was more puzzling. She couldn't help but notice that he seemed to ignore her when Scorpius and she were with him, yet she often caught him staring at her, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a frown. But he never talked to her, except to give her instructions about Scorpius.

She couldn't forget how she had almost thrown herself at him that evening, and yet she couldn't feel ashamed, not any more. The shame had been washed away with her sins and her grief.

Even he had changed somehow in her eyes. It was as if she truly saw him for the first time. He was handsome, her Master, in a very Barbaric way. He was fairer than the men she had grown up around. As fair, in fact, as the legendary men from the North who, in summer, roamed South in their strange ships to ransack the lands. Her village had been too far inland for them to get there easily, so they had never been attacked, but she had heard the stories. Both the master and Scorpius resembled the descriptions she had heard.

Whenever he was in the room, she felt drawn to him, and sometimes she had to physically restrain herself from actually walking up to him. She felt safe around him. And he just ignored her, as if she didn't matter. She didn't know why that was so frustrating. After all, she was only a slave, and he never paid the others much mind. But it seemed to her that he must have given her a lot more attention before, because she missed it now.

"Is the Master usually short with you?" she asked Flavia one evening while other slaves were tending to _cena_.

Flavia didn't answer right away. She had become slow in her words as well as her actions, which she blamed on the heat. She seemed to think the question over carefully. "He's not the kind to waste words," she said eventually.

Hermione frowned. That wasn't really an answer. "It's just…" She hesitated, then plunged on. "It's just that I have this feeling he didn't used to be like that with me."

"He may just be unsure how to act around you after what happened. I wouldn't worry too much if I were you."

Hermione didn't think that the explanation was quite enough. "He didn't ignore me before," she said stubbornly.

Flavia sighed and tucked her arm into Hermione's, gently urging her to walk back towards the slave quarters. She was tired. So tired. And she didn't want to deal with blindness and ignorance when she was in such a state.

"Then you were lucky before, girl. You seem to forget that you are merely a slave, which is about as important to him as the bed on which he sleeps. Do you think he pays attention to the furniture?"

Hermione drew in her breath sharply, unprepared for the pain that pierced her chest at Flavia's ruthless words. It was true, after all. She was a slave now. She had been so happy in the past few days, playing with Scorpius and enjoying life, that she'd almost forgotten that she had no freedom. The collar around her neck suddenly felt a whole lot heavier. Her hand went up to touch the tag that declared her property of the House of Malfidus. "You're right, of course."

But her voice must have betrayed how much the thought had upset her. Flavia turned around and cupped her face with both hands. "I'm sorry, my girl. I shouldn't have said that. But I just don't want you to get any ideas. The Master's year here in Narbo will soon come to an end, and you will not have the same liberties in Roma as you have here. The sooner you accept that and prepare for that life, the easier it will be for you. I am sorry I cannot give you any other advice, my girl." She seemed to want to say more but refrained herself. "Take me to my bed, Hermione. I am too old to stay up this late."

Hermione complied with her request, tucking Flavia's wrinkled hand back in the crook of her elbow and supporting her all the way back to the slave quarters.

She helped Flavia into her bed and was about to return to the house, when a sudden impulse made her turn around and hug the woman tight. "Thank you so much for being here. Thank you for helping me. You made me feel less alone from the very beginning. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

Flavia held Hermione close, as unwilling to let go as she was. "Oh my girl. How I wish you could know what you mean to me, how you have lightened up my days. As brave and strong as my daughter. I almost feel like I have her back with me when you are around." She stopped abruptly and pushed Hermione away, pressing her hands over her eyes to hide her tears. "Go now. The boy will need you soon."

Hermione obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

* * *

Draco eyed his friend with concern. Theodosius had arrived for their weekly cena in a very despondent state. Even Scorpius had not been able to cheer him up. When the meal was over and Scorpius had long since left the table to play with his toy horses, he decided the time had come to find out what was wrong.

"You seem a little distracted today," Draco observed in a casual tone. "Anything the matter?"

Theodosius sighed and gulped down another goblet of wine. "My uncle has written to me."

"Ah." Not that it explained much, but Draco knew Lysander of Nottos did not correspond with his nephew and heir on a regular basis, the two having fallen out years ago. It would, therefore, not be good news. Draco waited for the elaboration that was sure to follow.

Theodosius tossed back another goblet of wine ad fundum. "He wants me to get married and provide an heir."

"It is not an unreasonable request on his part," Draco said carefully.

"But what am I to do with a wife, I ask you? How would she fit into my life? You know I travel all the time, hardly ever settle anywhere for long. What wife would stand for that?"

Draco shrugged. He knew his friend had a restive soul and could never stay in the same place for longer than a year. His profession gave him the excuse to travel widely, to improve his skills in Alexandria or Athens or to learn about the healing waters of Aquae Sulis.

"You'd better be careful when you return to Roma, my friend," Theodosius said, breaking through Draco's thoughts. "Your father will be planning to find you a new wife soon."

"Me? Astoria hasn't even been dead for a year. And I have an heir. There is no reason…"

Theodosius laughed. "He's not moved by altruistic motivations. He's not looking for a companion for you or a mother for Scorpius. He wants a political alliance, Draco, surely you must realise that."

"How do you know?"

Theodosius hesitated, then shrugged. "I overheard him talking to one of his colleagues in the Senate. Can't remember whom. I didn't remember until just now, or I would have warned you earlier. He wants more grandchildren because then he can trade them in for even more political influence." His lips curled with disdain. He was about to say something else when they were interrupted by Scorpius, who climbed onto his father's couch and tugged on his toga to get his attention.

"Father, am I going to get a new mother?" His grey eyes were clouded by unshed tears.

Draco wasn't sure what to say. "I… I'm not planning anything like that, Scorpius. Where did you get that idea?"

Scorpius' shoulders seemed to sag in relief. He took a deep breath and swallowed, visibly trying to pull himself together. Then, with an effort to look all grown up, he said, "I don't need a new mother, Father. I just want Hermione to take care of me. Can't she be my mother?"

Draco's mouth dropped open in surprise. Of all the things he had expected, this was not it. He was at a loss for words, but luckily Theodosius was not quite so drunk as to be slow-witted.

"Hermione will always take care of you, Scorpius. She's your slave. It's why your father bought her. It's what she is supposed to do for the rest of her life."

"Oh." Scorpius cocked his head in such an exact imitation of his father that it almost made Theodosius laugh. "But why can't she be my mother? She does everything Mother used to do before she got sick. She plays with me and sings for me. She even makes me go to bed when I still want to play. So why is she my slave and not my mother? Can't you make her my new mother?" He looked at Draco, his face as pleading as he could muster, and Draco had to close his eyes to protect himself from the force of his demands. A treacherous part of him agreed with Scorpius, but he knew he couldn't let that voice overtake his reason.

"What does it matter if she is your slave or your mother?" he asked, eventually. "She'd take care of you and sing for you either way."

Scorpius seemed to consider that. "That's good, then," he said, with a smile. "I do love Hermione almost as much as I love Mother. I just want to keep her for ever and ever."

A moment later he had clambered down again, his attention back on his toys, unaware of the strained silence his innocent remarks left behind.

* * *

As soon as Scorpius was asleep, Hermione left the boy alone in his room. She was determined to find Malfidus and find out what was wrong. She had the idea she had somehow displeased him, and she felt too indebted to him to ignore the discomfort that thought gave her. He was in the garden, staring out into the dark night from a bench that still radiated with the heat it had absorbed during the day. She approached him carefully.

He sat up abruptly when he heard her footsteps on the gravel walk and didn't seem to relax when he recognised her. "What's wrong? Is it Scorpius?"

Hermione shook her head vigorously, her hands up in a gesture of appeasement. "Oh no, Master, please do not worry. Master Scorpius is sleeping."

The Master sank back, his face now hidden by the shadows thrown by the flickering torches around them. "Then why are you not with him?"

Hermione almost flinched at his harsh tone, but she swallowed and drew on her courage. "I wanted to ask you something."

"And this cannot wait?"

Though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was irritated with her now. "I thought it better to ask when the young Master wasn't around."

He didn't respond, and the silence between them stretched uncomfortably. She moved a little closer to him, hoping to get a better look of his face, but he drew back into the shadows some more. She wanted to huff in frustration but refrained from doing so. In her father's house she would not have accepted such behaviour, but here…

She bowed her head demurely, folding her hands together, the picture of submission, and asked the question that had played on her mind for weeks now. "Master, have I displeased you?"

She heard his sharp intake of breath, but, try as she might, she couldn't discern his face in the darkness. But she did see his hands ball into fists, and her heart dropped.

"Why would you ask that?" His voice was rough with suppressed emotion.

"I feel like I must have." Hermione hesitated, unsure of how to continue. "Whatever I did, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"You did nothing wrong. You should go back to Scorpius' room now. I don't want him to wake up and not find you there."

"But…"

"Go. Now." His voice was hard as steel and made her shiver.

"I apologise, Master," she said, then turned around and returned to Scorpius' room.

She tried to sleep, aware that it was very late now, but she couldn't forget that cold voice and the way Malfidus had dismissed her. She tossed and turned for a long time, but eventually decided to give up. The house was quiet, with only the guards still awake. She found her way to the garden and tried to take a few deep breaths to relax. It was the first time since the incident she was alone in the gardens in the dead of night, but she wasn't afraid. She enjoyed the cool night air, heavy with the scent of rosemary and thyme, the peace and quiet, the sound of the world at rest.

But then she heard it. A groan, a grunt… It came from the balneum. She hadn't realised her steps had taken her in that direction, but she was surprised that there was light. She ventured closer, careful not to make a noise, and entered the ante-chamber. Someone had tossed a tunica onto the bench with little regard, and the groans and other noises became steadily louder. She walked towards the caldarium and poked her head around the door.

It was Malfidus, but he looked unlike she had ever seen him. His eyes were closed, his body half submerged in the hot water, his arms moving frantically up and down. It only took her a second to realise what he was doing, and she was about to retreat when he tensed, his whole body arched up out of the water, his face a mask of pure bliss, his mouth slightly open and his breath stuck in his throat as his cock pulsed and pulsed, his semen disappearing into the water.

He had never looked more beautiful, more tempting, than at that moment. Hermione couldn't stop staring. She licked her lips unconsciously. Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment at having caught the man in such an intimate act. But then he gave a deep sigh and one word dropped from his lips like a rose petal on the floor.

"Oh Hermione."

Her eyes widened in surprise. She almost panicked, her eyes flicking to his face, but they were still closed, so he couldn't have seen her. In the same moment that she could reassure herself, another thought struck her. He'd thought of her.

She could barely suppress a gasp and stepped away from the doorway. She didn't quite know how she made her way back to Scorpius' room, but she did. She lay down in her corner, only to have sleep elude her. She kept hearing that soft sigh and his voice, breathy, longingly, pronouncing her name.

* * *

Draco was on his way back from the Circus. He tried to attend the games at least once a month, but this time they couldn't keep his attention from straying.

Can't you make her my mother?

Draco couldn't forget his son's innocent question, nor Theodosius' warning looks. Of course he could marry her. Nobody here would stop him. His father might not like it but he would not risk a scandal. And, though she might be a slave now, she was a highborn woman in her own clan and would have made an acceptable partner for him before… Before his father decided to murder her whole tribe.

Draco kicked at a stone that lay on the pavement. The city was bustling with energy and activity, but he noticed none of it. Figulus and two of his men accompanied him on his ramble. He'd said he wanted to walk back, but he'd forgotten what a crowded place Narbo could be and almost regretted his decision.

Can't you make her my mother?

He wanted nothing more. And that very thought scared him. She had bewitched him. She was always on his mind, from the moment he woke up to the moment he went back to sleep, and in his dreams as well.

And then she'd come to him, one evening and asked if there was anything she could do to please him and he'd had to restrain himself from asking - begging - her to touch him. She was driving him mad with lust.

Can't you make her my mother?

And yet… And yet it wasn't just lust. He loved seeing her play and laugh with Scorpius. He loved the way she sang to him, the stories she told him, the way she cared for Flavia… all those little things he wasn't supposed to notice at all. When he was watching the games earlier, he'd already turned his head to his left, a smile and comment on his lips, only to realise she wasn't there to share this with him. He wanted to share stories with her of Scorpius' first words and how he'd bumped into everything learning to walk. When he entered his private quarters in the evening, after a long day of paperwork and listening to civil disputes, his eyes sought her before Scorpius.

Can't you make her my mother?

He sighed. It was impossible. He couldn't marry her. Not when his father was responsible for the death of her family.

He let out an expletive that garnered the attention of some of the merchants in the street. They recognised his toga and his fair hair, and immediately began to crowd around him, trying to sell their wares.

"Lovely leather bags, Proconsul?"

"Finest sheepskin you've ever seen, Excellence."

"Maybe a necklace for a special lady, Sir?"

Figulus and his men managed to keep them at a distance, and he was about to dismiss them - courteously but firmly - when his eyes caught a gleam of gold. He stopped and turned towards the jewellery seller.

"May I have a look at your wares? I have a thought of sending something to my mother." It had been a long time since he'd written to her, and he hoped a necklace or some other finery would soften her resentment at being ignored.

He examined the necklaces and bracelets carefully. They were beautifully crafted, thin wires of gold adorned with beads in lapis lazuli, amethyst and even rubies. She'd like the rubies. He was about to point at the necklace with rubies when his gaze was drawn to a simple bracelet of roughly hewn amber beads. He stared at it for a long time, entranced by the beautiful colour variations. He bought both.

It was only when he was on his way to the Palace again that he realised the amber beads had reminded him of Hermione. Fiery, strong Hermione, standing before him with her chin thrust up, fire in her eyes, declaring proudly, "I am Hermione of the Eburones."

He cursed at himself.

* * *

One evening, shortly after the _Idus Iuliae_ , brought a rather tense-looking Theodosius into the private atrium. Scorpius ran over to him and started chattering happily, but he only patted the boy on the shoulder and hardly responded. His eyes were fixed thoughtfully on Hermione, who was sitting against the wall near Scorpius' cubiculum, sewing a new tunica, as the boy had almost outgrown his current clothes. She looked up at him and smiled, but her smile turned into a frown when he didn't return it.

Before they could say anything, Draco Malfidus entered the atrium and greeted his friend. "Salve, Theodosius. I'm glad you're here. If you will give me a few minutes to refresh myself we can take cena in the summer triclinium in a few moments."

"Salve, Draco. Did you hear the news?"

Draco, who was on his way to his cubiculum, stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders tensing up a little, then turned back to his friend with questioning eyes.

"It's just that, as Proconsul, I thought you'd have heard."

"Heard what?"

Theodosius didn't have to look at Hermione to know she was listening intently to their conversation. "Zabini was killed in a skirmish at the Pictish border." He heard her draw in a sharp breath, but his gaze remained fastened on Draco's carefully blank face. "I didn't even know he was in Britannia. I thought he'd been on his way to Lusitania when we saw him last."

"The Emperor must have changed his mind," Draco said, with a shrug that was just a little too casual.

"I wonder if someone whispered something in his ear," Theodosius said, his eyes narrowing. "Zabini used to be a favourite of his, and he never sends his favourites to fight the Picts."

One corner of Draco's mouth twitched, as if it wanted to curl up in a smug smile, but stopped just in time.

"Perhaps he went too far once too often. It is a sad loss to the Empire." He didn't quite know how he managed to keep a straight face while saying that, but somehow he did. He didn't think he even sounded sarcastic.

Theodosius looked at his friend for a long time but Draco refused to say anything else. Eventually he turned to his godson and tossed him high up in the air, to the boy's obvious delight.

"We'll go out to the summer triclinium while your father prepares for cena," he said to Scorpius. He sent one last reproachful glance at Draco and then let the boy drag him out to the garden.

Draco disappeared into his cubiculum, washed the day's dust off his face and put on a fresh toga. Summers in Narbo Martius were as hot and uncomfortable as Roma, but at least they had the sea breeze to cool everything down in the evening. He turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway.

"You saved me from him twice. And maybe even a third time?" The question in her voice was undeniable.

Draco cocked his head to the side and considered her strained face. "I might have reminded some people they owed me a favour." It was as much as he was willing to admit.

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, her lips moving to sound out the words. "Did you know he… Did you send him there to get him killed?"

"The Pictish border certainly is no reward."

She nodded thoughtfully, and Draco knew what the the next question was going to be before it fell from her lips. "But why? Why did you do it?"

He looked at her, all pretense gone, his face as open as it had ever been, and from the way her eyes widened with surprise, he knew everything he had tried to hide for the past months was written plainly on his features. "Do you really have to ask?"

She gasped and stared at him, unable to say another word. Draco swallowed painfully. The air in the room seemed to disappear and the walls closed in on him as they never had before. He knew with sudden clarity that he didn't want to wait for her reaction. He brushed past her and directed his steps to the summer triclinium to join his friend and son.

* * *

 _Thanks to hobbit penguin for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my own. Let's hope there aren't many. Hope you enjoy!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Here we are again. Let's look into the legal status of the_ Pater Familias _or 'patriarch' of a Roman family. The Pater familias is the eldest living male in a family. He is the head of that family and has certain powers associated with that position. He had to be a Roman Citizen (which originally meant someone from the city of Rome, but was later extended to the whole of the Italian Peninsula). In theory he held the power of life and death over his descendants. In reality this power was rarely exercised and eventually limited by law. He could decide who his children would marry - or withhold consent therefore making it impossible for his children to get married. Though children could acquire property, it was understood that ultimately this property was acquired for the family estate, and that this property fell under the authority of the pater familias. So, in our case, anything Draco buys or gains is technically his father's property. Yes, also the slaves... (A hint? What do you mean, a hint?)_

 _Avia is a term for grandmother._

 _Let's leave it at this. I can explain so much more but that would be a real spoiler for this chapter... More History Lesson at the end._

* * *

Hermione hadn't planned to return to Minerva's temple, but after all that had happened, she felt like she needed someone to talk to, and for some reason her mind went back to Luna several times. She'd tried to talk to Flavia, but the woman was unwavering in her loyalty to her Master, and the things she'd seen and heard just seemed too intimate to discuss with someone who knew him as well as Flavia did.

She managed to get permission to visit the temple again, under the pretext of wanting to thank the Goddess for healing her, and took advantage of the first free moment she had to make her way to the other side of the city.

Luna walked up to her as soon as she entered the courtyard and greeted her with the familiarity and affection of an old friend. "I knew you'd come back. Come along to the Camera Sacra." She took Hermione by the arm and guided her back to the dark side-entrance that lead into Minerva's cave. The soft sound of running water, the soothing greenish hue of the room and the imposing effigy of Minerva herself brought an immediate calm over Hermione. As before, Luna knelt at the edge of the pond, looking up with an expectant smile, as if waiting for Hermione to do the same.

"I'm not here to have my wounds tended to this time," Hermione said, blushing a little. She held her hands out. "See, the scars have all gone."

"Aren't you?" Luna raised an eyebrow in question. Her intense grey eyes seemed to see right through Hermione, who shuffled uncomfortably under her scrutiny and eventually gave in and knelt in front of Luna, who began wash Hermione's hands as before.

"Why did you come, Hermione?"

The question startled Hermione. She'd been so focused on the water rushing over her hands that she'd almost forgotten Luna was there. "I wanted to talk to someone. I don't know what to do. What to think."

"Minerva has all the answers but I cannot guarantee that she will give them, nor that you will like them." Luna's voice seemed to have taken a metallic tone and echoed from the walls, reverberating through Hermione's body as if she'd been yelling rather than murmuring those words. Hermione shivered at the sensation.

"It's just… since I was here last… I don't know what to do any more. I don't know what my purpose is. If not vengeance, then what? And then Malfidus…" Her voice trailed off and she stared into the water as if willing for it to give her the answers to questions she did not want to ask. But the waters - and Luna - remained silent, but for the murmuring of the stream. "He's in love with me." She hadn't admitted those words to herself, even just in the safety of her own mind, but saying them out loud made her realise the truth of it. "I thought he hated me. I thought I'd done something wrong. He refused me. He ignored me. But then I heard about Zabini and I knew. He loves me." She took a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes.

"And how do you feel about him?"

"I'm nothing but a slave. What does it matter how I feel about him?" She couldn't hide the bitterness in her words.

Luna folded her hands around Hermione's, waiting until she looked up again and faced the young acolyte. "That's not really an answer, Hermione. How do you feel about him?"

Hermione swallowed with difficulty, then the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I can't imagine life without him any more."

Luna's hands squeezed tighter around Hermione's. "Love is the greatest gift the Gods can bestow. Never forget that, Hermione."

"But what future can we have? His father ordered others to kill my family, my whole tribe."

Luna shook her head. "He is not his father."

"But when we return to Rome I'll have to face his father. How can I do that?"

Luna didn't answer for so long Hermione almost wondered if she'd fallen into a trance. She had closed her eyes and seemed to listen intently to a voice Hermione couldn't hear. But her eyes snapped open and her gaze burned in the flickering torch light.

"It is your choice, Hermione of the Eburones, to live with him and let go of the past, or to be separated and never release the hatred in your heart. Which is the greater sacrifice?"

Hermione bowed her head, overwhelmed by sadness. "I don't know," she whispered, more to herself than to Luna, "I just don't know."

* * *

Draco opened the missive with some apprehension. His father did not write to him very often, and when he did, it was not usually good.

The letter began with the usual news and political gossip from the City, couched in such neutral terms it could never be misrepresented should the letter fall into the wrong hands, yet Draco could derive his father's opinion on each person and event from the exact words he'd chosen to use as clearly as if he could see and hear his father in person.

Then he turned to the family news.

 _Your mother is well. She misses you and her grandson deeply. You will be surprised to hear your Aunt Andromeda has returned to Roma, husband and child in tow, as if she has any right to her family name. Your grandfather has refused to see her, of course. The scandal of acknowledging a former slave as son-in-law is more than the Niger family can bear. I have forbidden her my house. I will not accept a Liberatus as my brother. It has been the main source of news for the past few weeks._

 _I met an old friend of yours a while ago, at the Forum, Blasius Zabini. He mentioned your paths crossed at the Massilia slave market and that you have added an ancilla to our household to take care of my grandson. I shall look forward to meeting her. I should be remiss in my duties as Patriarch of the Malfidus family if I did not ascertain that my heir is raised by the very best of slaves and tutors. I have little reason to doubt your judgement, however. Zabini gave me a very favourable description._

Draco's hands balled into fists, crumpling the letter and tearing it to pieces before he even realised what he was doing. He knew exactly what his father wanted. He glanced at Scorpius and Hermione, who were sitting in a corner of his office, bent over a wax tablet and stylus, painstakingly copying out the letters Tertius had written out for them. Hermione's soft, encouraging murmurs were quiet enough not to disturb him in his work, and, in fact, rather soothed him. But the sudden threat of bringing Hermione back to Roma with him, to his father's house, where he would be powerless to protect her… He had not anticipated that particular problem. All his worries had been focused on Hermione possibly still being a threat to his father, to such an extent that he had completely forgotten that his father was, in fact, just as much a threat to her. He didn't know what to do.

* * *

One morning, not long after Theodosius' visit, Flavia couldn't get out of bed. Her legs wouldn't carry her. Tertius brought the news to Draco, who immediately sent for his friend. He had Flavia brought to an empty _cubiculum_ in the house, away from the uncomfortable slave quarters, and sat with her until Theodosius arrived. She didn't speak much. Her skin was sallow, her breath weak and her movements stiff and slow. Draco left as soon as his friend had arrived, a heavy feeling in his heart. He found Hermione and Scorpius hovering around the _atrium_ waiting for news.

"Will Flavia be well again, Father?" Scorpius asked, anxiously grasping Hermione's hand. His big grey eyes looked pleadingly up at his father, and Draco's heart dropped to his stomach. He'd seen that kind of sallow skin before, had heard the rasping struggle for breath. He had a feeling Theodosius would not have good news, and he didn't know how to tell his son. But his silence was answer enough, and Scorpius buried his face in Hermione's _tunica_ to hide his tears. Hermione's gaze met Draco's over Scorpius' head. Draco shrugged slightly, as if to say he couldn't be sure, and she nodded, pressing her lips together in a tight line and wiping away a single tear. Then she took a deep breath and bent down to pull Scorpius into a hug. She began to murmur soothing words, and Draco caught the occasional scrap of whispers.

"She's very old, you know, and everything hurts."

"It will be okay, Scorpius, I promise."

Draco turned away from them, the intimate scene too reminiscent of Flavia trying to console Scorpius when Astoria's illness overtook her. It was too painful. He waited patiently for Theodosius, but when he left the _cubiculum_ , one look on his face was enough to tell him that she wasn't going to survive this bout of fever. He entered the room again, forcing a smile on his face, surprised to find Flavia leaning up against the side of the bed and a look of genuine pleasure on her face. Her brow was dotted with perspiration but she didn't seem to suffer at all. When she noticed him, she slowly held out her hand for him to take. He obliged her immediately.

"My time has come," she said, the words fighting her every step of the way.

Draco nodded and squeezed her hand. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, _Avia_?" The familial pet name Astoria had always used for her fell from his lips with an ease he had never felt before. Her eyes lit up, and her smile softened.

"Thank you, Master, but I am very comfortable. I would be just as comfortable in my own bed."

Draco didn't miss the light scolding tone in her voice. "It's cooler here." Flavia didn't argue.

"Will you let me see the boy?"

"Of course." Draco stood up and made to leave but she didn't let go of his hand.

"Keep Hermione away. I want to see him alone. And then her."

* * *

Hermione waited with him in the atrium while Scorpius was with Flavia, clearly fighting the urge to run in after him when he began to cry. But he stopped soon after, and quiet murmurs, not quite distinguishable but clearly Flavia's voice, reached them through the open door.

"Is she going to die?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Draco nodded. He couldn't say the words. He couldn't imagine a life without Flavia. Apart from Scorpius, she was the only link he still had with Astoria, the woman he had loved so dearly. His feelings for Hermione now would never diminish what he had felt for his wife, but losing Flavia felt like cutting off that last string, and he hadn't realised until now how much he'd been holding on to that, to those few conversations he'd had with Flavia about Astoria, how much it had all meant to him. And now it felt like he was about to lose his wife all over again. He clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists, unable to look anywhere but the entrance to Flavia's cubiculum.

Then he felt her hands close over his. He couldn't look at her, wanted to push her away, wanted to pull her into his arms and bury his grief in her embrace, but he didn't. He just closed his eyes and let out a hissing breath. He could feel her stepping closer to him and let himself sway towards her until their shoulders touched and he leaned on her, searching for the strength he needed to let go of the past.

Then the sudden silence made him open his eyes. A moment later, Scorpius came out of the room, his eyes rimmed red from the tears he'd been unable to stop, his lips trembling. He walked straight up to them and threw his arms around Draco, who quickly picked him up in his arms. Scorpius' arms circled his neck and his tears wet the cloth of his toga. Draco swallowed. It was as if seeing Scorpius' tears made his own grief double in force, but he pushed it down and turned to Hermione. "She wants to see you next." Hermione looked surprised, but after a slight hesitation she entered Flavia's _cubiculum_ , throwing one last uncertain look over her shoulders.

Flavia seemed to be sleeping when Hermione came in. She didn't move at all, other than the shallow movement of her chest that indicated breathing. Hermione sat down on the floor beside her and waited, leaning her back against the bed.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there when she was startled by a hand patting her head. She turned around and met Flavia's clear gaze. She stood up quickly, lacing her fingers through Flavia's and helping her sit up a little straighter.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, wincing as soon as the words had left her mouth. But Flavia only chuckled.

"I'm ready to meet my fate, my girl. Don't worry about me." The words came out slurred and slow, and Hermione had to make an effort to understand the garbled Latin.

"Can I make you more comfortable in any way?"

Flavia shook her head and patted the side of the bed. "Sit down. Talk to me, my darling. Tell me something nice. I'd like to go with a memory of you telling me something nice."

Hermione swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall and dug deep inside herself to paste a happy smile on her face. She told Flavia about her visit to the temple, about Luna and her cryptic but deep messages, and Flavia closed her eyes, occasionally squeezing Hermione's hand to show she was still listening whenever Hermione slowed down, hesitating, wondering if she'd fallen asleep again.

"I was wrong, you know," she murmured, eventually, when Hermione had run out of things to say. "You mean more to him than the furniture." But before Hermione could ask exactly what she meant by that, she'd fallen asleep again, her chin sagging onto her chest. For a moment, Hermione was afraid she'd died, but the gentle movement of her chest reassured her again.

"I love you," she murmured into Flavia's ears, "You were my only friend here. I'll always remember you. Thank you. For everything." Then she stood up, looking down on the frail figure lying down on the bed. "I'll see you later," she said, knowing, somehow, there wouldn't be a later. She closed her eyes and wiped away the tears before she turned to leave. Draco was still carrying Scorpius, but Hermione knew it was up to her to help the boy through this. Her own pain didn't matter, not in the face of his confusion and fear at losing yet another person he loved.

One glance passed between Hermione and Draco before she took Scorpius off him, carrying him out into the garden to give Draco one last chance to say goodbye.

* * *

Draco sat with Flavia throughout the afternoon and evening, though she only woke up for a few short moments and seemed too weak to talk then. He tended to her himself, bathing her brow with a wet cloth, helping her to drink a little, or just holding her hand when she seemed content to do that.

He'd had a blacksmith come by to remove the slave collar and bracelets, and though she didn't wake up from it, she did notice the difference as soon as she opened her eyes the next time.

"Why?" she asked, her hand clutching at her naked neck.

Draco shrugged. "Astoria would have wanted you to die a free woman, _Avia_. I am so grateful for everything you've done, for me, for Scorpius, for her. The least I can do is ensure you appear before the Gods a _liberata_."

She didn't respond for a long time, and he almost thought she'd fallen asleep yet again when she tugged on his arm to bring him closer. He bent down, his ear hovering over her lips to catch the slightest sound.

"Don't care… for myself… being freed… You must promise, Master! Hermione, protect her. Your father… my poor Adria… She deserves better. Promise me."

Her words, barely more than a whisper, made his heart clench with pain and regret. But there was no hesitation. He straightened up a little and made sure she was looking at him before answering, "I promise. I promise I'll protect her."

Flavia's whole body seemed to sag in relief, then she smiled, a strained, yet unearthly happy smile. "Astoria would have liked her."

It was the last thing she'd ever say, and Draco held those words in his heart for the rest of his life. Flavia passed away that night. Draco was sure he could pinpoint the exact the moment her body became just that, a husk of the person she once had been. He closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to her lips before lifting the body out of the bed and carefully placing it on the floor. Then he knelt by her and cried, holding the hand that would never again cup his cheek or point a finger at him in dismay. She was gone.

* * *

Hermione didn't assist with the preparations of Flavia's body, as she had no idea what was supposed to happen. In her own tribe, the dead were buried with enough food and treasure to serve them in the afterlife, but here the customs seemed different. The body was washed and placed in the Atrium, feet pointing towards the door, where all of the household came to pay their respects. Malfidus didn't leave her wake until the next morning.

Hermione sat in his office, Scorpius in her lap and snuggling against her, refusing to leave her side for even one moment. She listened with growing confusion to Malfidus' orders until she could take no more. She rose from the floor, hoisting Scorpius up in her arms.

"Hire the mourners and musicians to accompany the funeral procession, Tertius. She deserves a good send-off. And get a sow delivered to the _necropolis._ I want all traditions observed." Draco sent Tertius off to run his errands and looked at at Hermione, who had walked up to his desk, a sad smile on his face. His eyes darted from her to Scorpius, who clung tightly to her neck. He was worried about his son and how he would take the loss of yet another person who had always been there for him. He was so lost in thought, he almost missed Hermione's voice.

"You know she wouldn't want all that."

Draco blinked and let the words sink in. He had to admit she was probably right. Flavia had always been a humble woman, she would not like the pomp and circumstance he had asked Tertius to organise. "But, in a way, it's not about her. It's about guiding her soul to the afterlife. It's about giving those who are left behind the opportunity to say goodbye." He saw several emotions flicker across her face, then she bowed her head and hugged Scorpius a little tighter. She turned away again.

"I didn't mean any disrespect."

"I know, Hermione. But let me do this for her, please." His eyes fastened on Scorpius' sad face, staring at him over Hermione's shoulder. _For both of us_ , he thought, but didn't say. _I need to teach him to treat his slaves with respect, and this is one more way to do it._ "I can't just have her tossed on the pyre with no ceremony, as if her life didn't matter. It mattered to my wife. It mattered to me. It mattered to Scorpius. She deserves all the honours."

The funeral passed by in a blur of emotions and images. Flavia's body being carried through the streets of Narbo Martius, accompanied by loud laments and the wailing sound of the _cornu_ and _tuba_. The sacrifice of the sow to Ceres, the heat of the pyre. The dirt under Malfidus' fingernails when he insisted on burying the urn with her ashes himself.

The days after the whole household lived under the dark cloud of a painful loss. Flavia had taken up such an important position among the slaves that all of them felt lost without her soothing presence.

* * *

Draco had his responsibilities as Proconsul to take his mind off Flavia's death, and after performing his duties at the _Novemdialis,_ he returned his full attention to his duties. The month of Augustus had started, and he needed to prepare for his return to Roma, as his year as Proconsul of Gallia Narbonensis was coming to a close. His tenure would not be extended, as the latest missive from the _Senatus_ had informed him, so he was expected back in Roma by the end of September.

While the practicalities of his return took up more than enough time and effort, it was something else that kept him awake at night.

 _You must promise, Master! Hermione, protect her. Your father… my poor Adria… She deserves better. Promise me._

He would soon return to Roma, return to his Father's house.

 _I should be remiss in my duties as pater familias if I did not ascertain that my heir is raised by the very best of slaves and tutors. I have little reason to doubt your judgement, however._

He had promised Flavia to protect Hermione, but how could he do that when the law gave Lucius Malfidus, _pater familias_ of the Malfidus family, all rights to all possessions. And he knew exactly what Zabini would have told his father, and what his father planned to do. He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the answer was. Or rather, trying to figure out if there was any way other than the one solution that had presented itself. But he soon knew there would not be another way.

* * *

On the eve of his departure, after Scorpius had fallen asleep, he called for Hermione and asked her to accompany him.

Hermione had noticed that Malfidus was suffering from sleepless nights, had seen the strange way he looked at her, and had wondered what was wrong. She didn't like the look in his eyes, apologetic, resigned, sad. "Where are we going?"

"To visit a friend."

He refused to look her in the eyes and that bothered her even more. But she refrained from asking more questions. She was ushered into a _lecticula_ and Malfidus took his place beside her. He didn't speak until the slaves that were carrying them let him know they had arrived.

Draco couldn't bring himself to move. His hand stretched out to the curtains surrounding him, but though his fingers brushed the fabric, he didn't open them.

"What is going on?"

Her voice cut through him like a hot spear. He swallowed and gathered all the courage he possessed. "I'm leaving for Roma tomorrow." The words struggled to leave his mouth but he forced them out nonetheless. "I'm not taking you with me." He heard her gasp and the sound went straight through his heart, making him flinch as if he had received a physical blow. He forgot what else he was going to say.

"Why?"

The word came out in a whisper. Draco still couldn't face her. But he also couldn't lie. "Many years ago, my family purchased Flavia's daughter as a slave for our household. Her name was Adria." Saying that name again after all those years made him pause. He remembered Adria's dark brown eyes, her smile, the way her hips swayed when she walked. She'd been his first crush. He'd never even known what it was like to fall for someone before. He took a deep breath. "She was very young when she came into our family, fourteen, barely past childhood. My father raped her. Several times. She tried to fight him and he whipped her within an inch of her life. She survived but couldn't live with the memories. She cut her wrists one night. I was the one who found her the next morning. He's a monster, Hermione. I can't take you into that house. And as a Malfidus slave, I can't protect you from my Father." He finally turned his head. He saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes and gently wiped away the one drop that escaped. "Theodosius will take care of you. I know he will not abuse you. And in another two years he will set you free." She began to shake her head and he cupped both her cheeks with his hands, leaning his forehead against hers, his eyes closed so he wouldn't get lost in the depth of hers. "I promised Flavia. I promised I would protect you from him. This is the only solution. Please don't fight me on this, Hermione. Please don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

He was surprised by her lips pressing against his, soft, insistent, pleading. Her kiss tasted salty with her tears. He couldn't resist. His mind screamed at him to pull away but the jolt of lightning that set fire to his whole body at her touch eradicated all rational thought. The blood rushed through his ears. She pressed herself against him, almost crawling onto his lap while kissing his lips, his cheeks, even his closed eyelids, each kiss punctuated by a whispered "Please," every whisper a stab to the heart. His hands dropped away from her cheeks and roamed over her body, her shoulders, her breasts, her legs. He knew he would never be able to enjoy the scent of lavender again.

He pushed her away gently, took a deep breath and tried to calm down his racing heart. Then he resolutely reached out, opened the curtains and got out. He waited for her to join him, and he could see the moment she considered just staying put, but then her eyes went to the slaves who had carried the _lecticula_ and she seemed to understand he wouldn't be opposed to simply carrying her into Theodosius' house.

Inside, Theodosius was waiting for them, his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

Draco nodded at his friend, then motioned for Hermione to walk over to him. She did so with obvious reluctance. "She's yours now," he said. His mouth opened to say something else, but the words turned to ashes in his mouth. He simply turned on his heel and left.

* * *

Hermione couldn't quite believe this was really happening. He was really leaving. She watched him, striding through the _atrium_ , his shoulders tense and his hands balled to fists by his side. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, every breath burning in her lungs. She reached out for him, as in a dream. "Wait… Wait!" But he kept walking, had almost reached the door when she shouted his name. "Draco!"

He froze. Then his head dropped and he took the final step out of Theodosius' house, and out of her life.

She wanted to run after him, but Theodosius put a hand on her arm to constrain her. "Let him go, Hermione," he muttered under his breath.

She looked wildly from the doorway to Theodosius and back, then heard the _lecticula_ being lifted off the ground and the slaves walking off. She sank to her knees in the _atrium_ , unable to stop the tears from falling. It was suddenly painfully clear which sacrifice was the greatest, and the choice wasn't even hers.

* * *

 _Aren't you happy to know this is **NOT** the end?  
_

 _Some background on Roman funeral rites:  
Recently deceased bodies would be placed on the floor, just like newly born babies were, as a sort of closing of the circle. It was normal for the head of the household to try and capture the last breath in a kiss. It was normal to hire professional mourners and musicians to accompany a cortege. The instruments played are tuba (a sort of trumpet) and cornu (a sort of sousaphone that curls around the body). The dead were originally burnt in the necropolis outside the city, the ashes then gathered in an urn and the urn itself buried. Later on, the urns would be placed in columbaria, which literally means pigeon holes. At the necropolis, a sow would be offered to Ceres, one part to be burnt with the body, one part to be offered on the altar of Ceres and the other parts to be consumed by the mourners. __Novemdialis is the ninth day after someone's passing, when the Romans would organise a feast to celebrate that person's life. It marked the end of the deep mourning period._

 _Beta love to hobbit penguin, any remaining mistakes my own._


	10. Chapter 10

**History lesson**

I briefly mentioned timekeeping in the Roman era before, but I'll go over it again. Basically daylight time was divided in twelve equal parts (horae or hours), with the first hour of the day starting at sunrise and the twelfth hour of the day ending at sunset. This meant that summer hours lasted for longer and the day started earlier compared to winter. Night was divided into four 'watches' or _vigiliae,_ each consisting of three _horae_. So again, in summer these nighttime hours would be shorter than the daytime hours.

 **Vocab recap**

Lecticula = sedan chair  
Atrium = central area of the house  
Cubiculum = bedroom  
Tablinium = office  
Tunica = a sort of shift dress. Women's would be ankel length, men's about knee length  
Stola = usually colourful dress women wore over the tunica  
Asinus = donkey (used as insult)  
Deodamnatus = God be damned (Latin curse words, be honest, you know you wanted to learn this)  
Decurio = military rank, leader of a turma or cavalry unit  
Centurio = leader of a military unit, also in navy: leader of the naval unit/Captain (of sorts)  
Optio = military rank, just under Centurio

 **This chapter is dedicated to DelicateScholar for her never-ending support and JEPierre for putting up with my moods. I know I've been a pain, I'm sorry.**

* * *

Draco remained in the _lecticula_ long after his slaves had deposited it at the entrance of his home. He'd sent them away, wanting to be alone. In the growing darkness of the night, he wondered why he couldn't move. The faint scent of lavender, of her, still hung about the pillows and curtains. He couldn't forget that last desperate cry. She'd never used his name before. If refusing her advances had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, leaving her at Theodosius' house was the most painful. He almost - _almost_ \- regretted not giving in, now. Now that he knew how soft her lips were against his, now that he knew the curves of her body, now he _almost_ regretted hanging on to his own principles. His hands fisted the soft fabric of the cushion she'd sat on and he let his breath escape in a harsh sigh. He'd made his decision. It was the right decision. He knew it was the _only_ decision. He couldn't keep her. But he wanted to keep her safe. Theodosius' household was safe for her. So why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he go to bed, sleep, prepare for the long journey to Roma tomorrow?

A slight cough caught his attention and he looked up to find Tertius holding open one of the side curtains. He looked apologetic and uncomfortable.

"I don't want to interrupt, Master," he began, his eyes downcast.

Draco made an impatient gesture with his hand. "What is it, Tertius?"

The scribe shifted from one foot to the other, looked over his shoulder and then back at Draco. "I'm afraid the young master woke up while you were gone. We couldn't find Hermione…"

The name, so casually mentioned, made shivers run down Draco's back, but he tried to suppress them. "She's gone," he said, his voice harsh and cold. "I sold her."

Tertius looked surprised, then regained his composure. "The young master is very upset, Master. He's been crying and calling for her."

Draco closed his eyes for just a moment. Of course this had to be the night that Scorpius woke up. Of course he'd have to deal with this now, not tomorrow morning. It seemed the Gods were punishing him for his sacrifice and he very nearly cursed them for it. "I'll talk to him," Draco said, with a resigned sigh.

The house was in turmoil. Slaves ran to and fro, packing up the last of the furniture, clothes and other personal belongings Draco had brought to Narbo. Soldiers made a show of standing guard over the Proconsul's luggage, marching across the yard and yelling orders. But even over all that noise, Draco could hear the wails echoing from his son's _cubiculum_. Several slaves winced at a particularly loud shriek, but the sight of their master stopped them from reacting any further. Draco decided enough was enough.

He marched through the _atrium,_ ignoring the glances his slaves exchanged as they scurried out of his way. He entered his son's room and motioned for the harassed slave inside to leave. A torch lit up the room, which was in shambles. Scorpius had broken half his toys and ripped his clothes; splinters and shards littered the floor and the decorations on the wall were damaged from the impact of the toys that had been thrown against them. Draco folded his arms and glared at his son in stony silence.

Scorpius, unimpressed, threw himself into his tantrum with even more energy. His face had turned dark red, both from the effort of screeching garbled words at the top of his lungs and the tears that stained his face and clothes.

Draco waited, still silent. He knew this tactic of his son's, having used it plenty of times himself as a child. He'd always managed to get away with it, but he wasn't going to let his son do the same. It occurred to Draco, quite suddenly, that Scorpius hadn't really been this upset since Hermione had started taking care of him. Even while she was imprisoned and Scorpius had cried for her every day, his tantrums hadn't been this dramatic. Draco had to shake himself to push the thought away, and when he noticed his son glancing up at him with the calculating eyes of one checking if his antics were achieving his goal, he merely raised his eyebrows and returned the glance.

Scorpius sniffled loudly, wiped his nose on his tunica and started kicking his legs out over the edge of his bed. His whole body was shaking from the effort to suppress his sobs, and his breath came in shallow pants.

Draco waited.

"Where's Hermione?" Scorpius' quivering voice broke the strained atmosphere in the room.

Draco's shoulders tensed in anticipation of his son's reaction as he carefully uttered the words he'd not wanted to say until they were far off the coast. "She's no longer with our household." His voice was clipped, his words precise, and Scorpius, though he opened his mouth to take a deep breath in preparation for another wail, seemed to know there was something more to be said still. He closed his mouth with a sharp snap of his teeth and looked up at his father, anger and confusion in his eyes. "Why?"

Draco unfolded his arms and took a few steps closer to his son's bed. He kneeled in front of Scorpius, so their eyes were at the same level. "Do you remember, Scorpius, that we talked about how we, as a family of Roman citizens, have a duty to take care of our slaves and must make sure they do not get hurt?"

Scorpius' eyes danced over Draco's face searchingly, and his lips pursed together with the effort of trying to remember. He nodded once, sharply.

"Not everyone who owns slaves believes they should take care of them, Scorpius. Some people think they can hurt their slaves very badly if they wish to do so, and a slave can't tell his master to stop hurting him, because that's the law."

"But that's not right!" Scorpius exclaimed, one hand furiously wiping at his wet cheeks. "You told me, we have to take good care of our slaves. We have to! The Gods tell us so!"

"But some people don't believe that. And in Roma, I can't tell other people how they should treat their slaves." He'd decided not to name his father as his main cause for concern, not to a four-year-old who could not be depended on to keep it to himself. "So to keep Hermione safe, she's staying here, in Narbo. You wouldn't want Hermione to get hurt, would you?"

Scorpius shook his head with all the determination a four-year-old could muster. "She was hurt before. I don't want her to be hurt ever again, father."

Draco's eyes clouded over with anger at the reminder of his failure to protect her. "That's why she's staying here while we go back to Roma. I'll find you a tutor there, someone to teach you more writing and numbers, and the laws of the City and everything else you need to know. And Hermione will be here, safe, away from those who might hurt her."

Scorpius reached out for his father, a sorrowful frown on his face. "I wish she could come with us," he whispered, a sob escaping unbidden. "I will miss her, father."

Draco wrapped Scorpius in his arms and pulled him in a tight hug. "Me, too, Scorpius. Me, too."

* * *

Theodosius looked at the woman at his feet in growing discomfort. Her cries had attracted the curiosity of his other slaves, but he'd waved them away impatiently. He couldn't have refused Draco when he came up with this idea, not really. Adria had been the reason he'd become a _medicus_ , and Draco was, and always would be, his best friend. But as he listened to Hermione's heart-wrenching sobs, he suddenly wondered if this solution would make _anyone_ happy. He didn't want the woman in his household. He had Kleon, his personal slave, and a cook to see to his needs. Scorpius would miss her. Draco would miss her. And it seemed even Hermione herself was utterly heartbroken over the sudden separation.

He uttered an annoyed sigh and bent down to help Hermione to her feet. "Come, Hermione, let me get you out of the _atrium_. There's no point in staying here." She clung to him desperately, as if begging for support, her sobs and laboured breaths rendering her incapable of any intelligible speech. "Calm down, girl," Theodosius aid, with a little more authority, as he led her into an empty _cubiculum_. He made her sit on the bed and tried to get her to take deep breaths, had some wine brought over for her to drink, then some bread from the kitchen. Eating and drinking forced her to regain control of her breathing, but her eyes still shone with tears that she seemed incapable of stopping.

When she finally spoke, it almost came as a surprise.

"He didn't even let me say goodbye."

The words were mumbled but Theodosius could not mistake their meaning. It cut straight through his heart. She looked up at him, a curiously blank expression on her face. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe I was wrong the whole time." Something in her eyes seemed to flicker and die. She curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and hiding her face in her _tunica_.

"He's trying to protect you," Theodosius said, but she no longer reacted, not to his words, not when he reached out to touch her shoulder. He sighed and left the room. The wine had been laced with valerian, and he suspected she'd fall asleep soon. He'd leave her here for the night.

The morning didn't look any better. Theodosius found Hermione awake and lying in her bed, but she was still unresponsive. He knew it wasn't the valerian, that had been only a small dose, to help her fall asleep, in the hopes that she would not feel so bad the next morning after a good night's rest. It didn't seem to have worked, though. He shook his head, ordered his slaves to bring some food and drink in her room and left her alone.

He was more convinced than ever that something needed to be done.

A few hours later, one of his slaves returned from an errand and sought his attention.

"What is it, Kleon?"

Kleon bowed respectfully and took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I met Tertius on the way back, Master. I thought you might like to know how your friends are faring." Kleon's eyes darted towards the _cubiculum_ where Hermione was still lying on the bed. Theodosius nodded at Kleon to continue. "It seems his young Master was very upset when he woke up and his _ancilla_ was no longer there. Master Malfidus has been in a bad temper all day and the boy won't stop crying. Tertius mentioned they might put off their departure until late this evening, when the young Master will be asleep, just to avoid more arguments. If you should like to see them before they go, they will leave the Palace before the start of the twelfth hour."

Theodosius mulled over that information in silence. Again the thought came to him that this solution, though keeping Hermione safe, was, in fact, not making anyone happy. "Did you find the blacksmith?"

Kleon nodded. "He will pass by before the eighth hour, Master."

"And the other things I asked you to look for?"

"They will be delivered shortly, Master." Kleon's eyes darted to Hermione's _cubiculum_ again. "But the girl…"

Theodosius interrupted him sharply. "I will take care her."

Kleon bowed, accepting the reprimand with unwilling submission. "Of course, Master."

Theodosius reached out a hand and cupped Kleon's cheek. "You have nothing to worry about, Kleon," he murmured, just loud enough for the slave to hear. "Now see if you are needed in the kitchen. I have work to do."

* * *

Hermione heard the activities of the household and city around her. The footsteps of slaves crossing the _atrium,_ the shouts of merchants out on the streets, she heard it all but it didn't seem to make any impression. It was as if the sounds escaped before she quite understood what they were. She'd woken up while it was still dark, and had slowly seen the light turn from deep black to soft grey. The room had no window and a curtain kept the light from the _atrium_ out. She'd noticed Theodosius come into the room and try to talk to her, but she couldn't bring herself to respond. She couldn't bring herself to move. He was her new _master_ and the thought left her breathless with nausea.

Again and again she saw Draco freeze in the doorway, then leave without once looking back. Again and again she imagined Scorpius waking up without her and crying out her name. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. She was vaguely aware of thirst and hunger, but it seemed like her body was no longer connected to her mind, as if it was someone else's stomach clamouring for food and drink.

She hadn't even noticed that Theodosius had returned to the room until she became aware he was shaking her shoulder and holding a bowl of something to her lips. She opened her mouth obediently and swallowed the warm broth. Slowly her ears registered that he was speaking, though it didn't seem aimed at her.

" _Asinus_. _Deodamnatus_ , how stubborn he is. And l will just pick up the pieces, shall I?"

Hermione pushed the bowl away. She wanted to turn away from Theodosius, but he held her in place, tilting her chin up to force her to look at him.

"I've been patient with you, but this is it. Time to get up, Hermione. Your new life begins today."

A cry of pure agony escaped her lips, but at her new master's stern face she pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle the sound and got up on shaky legs. A moment later a man entered the room, accompanied by a slave she vaguely recognised as Theodosius' assistant, who was carrying a torch. The sudden bright light in the room hurt her eyes but she refused to shut them.

The strange man began to take out tools she didn't recognise, but she couldn't mistake the slave tag, new, gleaming in the torch light, that was laid out on the bed. She pressed her hands to her mouth even harder to stop herself from screaming. She didn't want to lose the collar Malfidus had put around her neck. It was the last thing that bound her to him, to Scorpius, and she didn't know how she could live without it.

Theodosius was the one who forced her hands down to her sides and carefully lifted her hair out of the way. She wondered if he did that with all his slaves, but then realised that she'd only ever seen him with male slaves and they didn't usually have long hair. The snap that broke the collar echoed in the room and a moment later, the weight was lifted from her collarbone. It felt as if a part of her soul was torn away from her, the pain piercing her body with unexpected ferocity. She couldn't help a sob escaping from her mouth. She caught Theodosius' eye and looked away. It seemed indecent to let him see the pain in her eyes. It was humiliating to think she was so desperate to hold on to the symbol of her servitude.

" _Minerva Sapiens_ , give me the strength," she heard her new master mutter. She couldn't help retching at the thought. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the touch of cold metal, of the new collar being placed around her neck. But to her surprise, it didn't come.

"You may go now," Theodosius said.

Hermione's eyes flew open. The blacksmith looked a little surprised, but didn't question the order. He packed up his belongings and left, the slave carrying the torch following him closely. She searched Theodosius' face but the man was watching the others leave with such deliberation she could feel he didn't want to hear whatever question she had to ask. When their footsteps had faded away, he turned towards her and sighed.

"You had better not make me regret this, Hermione of the Eburones." And with that cryptic message, he tossed her a parcel wrapped in oiled cloth. Hermione opened it curiously and found a beautifully embroidered stola in the colour of the sea, and a white cotton tunica.

"What… what is this?" Her voice croaked and she coughed, embarrassed.

Theodosius sat down on the bed, his head bowed and his hands clasped together. He didn't answer right away and Hermione wasn't sure if he even was going to answer, but eventually he looked up and said, in a clear voice, " _Liberata, liberata, liberata es._ You're free, Hermione. I'm not keeping you and I'm not selling you on. I'm giving you new clothes so you can walk the streets of this city without fear. My neighbour will send in her _ancilla_ to help you get dressed."

Hermione clasped the parcel to her chest, her breath catching in her throat, her mouth going dry as sand. Her hand went to her collarbone, where the indents of the slave collar she'd worn for almost a year were still visible. A collar she would, apparently, not wear again. "Why?"

Theodosius let out a scathing laugh. "I don't know, Hermione. Maybe I just don't want to be party to this strange scheme of Draco's. Maybe I'm just mad. Maybe you should just take what you are offered and run with it." He rose and walked towards the doorway. He paused before leaving the room and said over his shoulder, "You are free to stay here as my guest for as long as you want. You are free to leave, to travel elsewhere. If you need an escort to take you anywhere, I will provide you with one. You don't have to leave, but you don't have to stay either. You're free. Free to go to _him_ , or not. It's your decision, Hermione. It's your life." And with that, he was gone.

A young girl came into the room and hastily began to undress and redress Hermione in the soft cotton and light woolen clothes Theodosius had provided her with, dressing her hair in an elaborate updo that felt wholly foreign but strangely comfortable. When she was finished, the girl bowed and left, and it was only then that Hermione realised she didn't even know the slave's name and couldn't thank her.

She walked out into the _atrium_. Theodosius was in the _tablinum_ , his head bent over a scroll of papyrus. He looked up when she approached him, stared for a moment, then blinked, at her as if he didn't quite recognise her. Then he stood up and smiled.

"You look quite the lady, Hermione."

Hermione smiled back at him, still not quite comfortable in her new clothes, without the weight of a collar around her neck. Her hand touched the dip in her collarbone and she blushed when she noticed he had seen the gesture.

"You said I was free to stay or go," Hermione said, hesitatingly. Theodosius nodded at her. "But where can I go? I have no money, no friends. I'm not really free, am I? I have to stay here, with you, if I want to eat, if I want to have a roof over my head, if -"

Theodosius reached behind his desk, then tossed a small pouch her way. "I'm not keeping you here if you don't want to stay, Hermione. That's yours to do with as you please. You are free. The choice is yours."

Hermione caught the pouch and almost dropped it, surprised at how heavy it was. She swallowed with difficulty. She really was free. Free to go. Free to return home, free to travel to another city and start a new life. Free to… The image of Draco and Scorpius rose in her mind, unbidden. She sucked in a breath sharply as the full implication of Theodosius' words became clear. She could go to the harbour, board the same ship as Draco and Scorpius and travel with them, not as a slave, but as a free woman. She swayed back on her heels, her mouth opening and closing with words she couldn't find.

"I…" She felt lost, caught in a storm of thoughts that threatened to drown her, and suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted to go. "Will you tell me how I can get to the Temple of Minerva from here?"

* * *

It was as if Luna knew Hermione would be there, because yet again did the young _acolita_ welcome her as soon as she crossed the threshold into the temple courtyard.

"I had a feeling I might see you today, Hermione," Luna said. She seemed unfazed by Hermione's altered appearance. "Will you join me in the _camera sacra_?"

Hermione had only been in that room twice before, but it was the one place she felt she might find peace when her thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. She let Luna guide her there, entering the cave with the strange bluish light with a sigh of relief. The sound of running water, the soothing colours reflected in the pool and the effigy of Minerva gave her an instant sense of homecoming.

Luna kneeled by the side of the pool and Hermione followed her example. She let her fingers skim the surface of the water while Luna sat back on her heels and waited for Hermione to speak.

"When I was here last, I told you I didn't know which would be worse, to be a Malfidus slave and have to serve his father, the man who had ordered the death of my entire family, or to be separated from Draco and Scorpius."

Luna smiled serenely. "But now you know." It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a statement. It was as if Luna simply spoke the words that Hermione had wanted to say.

"The choice was taken from me," she said quietly, the pain of seeing Draco walk out of Theodosius' _domus_ , out of her life, still too raw to linger on it. "Then I knew."

"Then why are you here, Hermione?" Luna's voice had taken on that slightly metallic quality again, echoing off the walls of the chamber. Her eyes gleamed silver in the sparse torchlight.

Hermione cupped some water into her hands and watched it trickle between her fingers. She repeated the motion a few times, trying to get her thoughts in order. Why was she here? Her heart had cried out for this place when she became overwhelmed by her own thoughts, so there must be a reason. "I'm a free woman now. I could go to him, not as a slave but as a woman, as his equal. I have a choice now. Everything is just… different."

Yes, it was different now. Before the choice was between holding on to revenge or letting go in favour of love, but her position in the household, her position as Draco's slave and Scorpius' caretaker had not been in question. Now she was free, and even going to Draco was a choice, _her_ choice. Her responsibility. And the weight of that responsibility lay heavily on her heart. Could she really make that choice now?

"Is it?"

Luna's voice made Hermione look up from the pool of swirling water, but Luna wasn't looking at her. She had turned towards Minerva and held out her hands in supplication. Her focus seemed to be entirely on the statue on the other side of the water.

"Have your feelings for him changed?"

Hermione remembered the desperate kiss in the _lecticula_ , remembered his hands roaming over her body and her heart screaming for more. She shivered.

"Have your feelings for his son changed?"

Her heart clenched painfully at the reminder of Scorpius, Scorpius whom she loved as a son, whom she hadn't been able to say goodbye to. Scorpius, who offered her grapes as an apology, who hugged her tight when he had a bad dream, who laughed so happily when they played together.

"Have your feelings for his father changed?"

Nausea replaced the ache in her chest. She hated that man, even though she'd never met him. But she'd been prepared to leave that hate behind for Draco and Scorpius. Was she still prepared to do that?

"Is it really different now?"

Luna's voice was soft now, almost a whisper, but she might as well have shouted that last question. Hermione held her breath until her lungs burned with need for oxygen.

* * *

Theodosius of Nottos paced back and forth on the quay. He'd decided to go to the harbour to see his friend and godson off, since he had no plans to leave Narbo until the next Spring. And of course he wanted to know what Hermione would do. He hadn't seen her since she'd left for Minerva's Temple. It was nearing the twelfth hour. It would be dark soon, but the place was still teeming with activity, traders and slaves yelling across one another, tossing merchandise from ship to shore and back. The _trireme_ Concordia, the military ship that would take Draco and Scorpius back to Roma, was in the final stages of preparations, the sails checked and ready, the _remiges_ taking their places and the ship's _centurio_ and _optio_ awaiting the arrival of the Proconsul in full regalia. But none of this activity could distract Theodosius from his own thoughts.

He was torn. Had he made the right decision? It had felt like the right thing to do. What was he to do with yet another slave? And why would he keep her when the woman could make his friend and godson happy? But would she? Had it been a mistake to give her money and tell her she was free to stay or go as she pleased? His stomach clenched and he took a deep, bracing breath. The salty air was soothing and the sound of the water lapping at the shore grounded him, but the nagging insecurity inside did not abate. What if he had made a wrong judgement? What if she didn't show up in time? What if she didn't show up at all?

He was roused from his thoughts by the arrival of the proconsular escort. He recognised Figulus, the _decurio_ who was responsible for Draco's safety in the _Provincia_. A moment later, Draco appeared, comfortably seated on a horse, Scorpius in front of him. The boy was looking around, but there was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his behaviour. When his eyes fell on Theodosius, he perked up and stretched out his arms.

"Patrinus! You came!"

Theodosius stepped up to Draco's horse and lifted Scorpius into his arms. "I couldn't let you leave without saying a proper goodbye," he said, tossing Scorpius in the air. The boy giggled and demanded more, higher. Theodosius obliged, not once but twice, giving Draco the time to dismount and talk to his troops before addressing his friend. There was a dark anger in his eyes when they finally fixed on Theodosius.

"I hope you didn't bring…"

But Theodosius cut his friend off before he could finish that sentence. "Of course I didn't." It wasn't a lie, exactly. He expected her to show up, in fact, he genuinely hoped she would, but he hadn't brought her with him.

"We want to leave before the _Vigilia Prima_ ," Draco said. "So don't keep Scorpius with you for too long. But you can have some time with him while I go and talk to the _centurio_."

Theodosius nodded and focused his attention on his godson again. Scorpius was talking excitedly, pointing at the various scenes he thought interesting, patting the horse that had carried him on the nose and giggling like mad at something Figulus whispered in his ear. But there was something off about him. His eyes didn't sparkle like they used to. His shoulders sagged when he thought nobody was looking. And for the first time, Theodosius knew _he_ had made the right decision. He just wasn't sure that _she_ would, too.

* * *

Draco Malfidus had been shocked to see Theodosius at the harbour, and for an agonizing moment he'd feared that the man would have brought Hermione with him in some strange attempt to reconcile them. But no, he hadn't. And Draco was not disappointed. He wasn't.

He left Scorpius with his friend and found the _centurio_ to discuss the last arrangements for the trip. They talked about the itinerary, the expected weather, the arrangements on board for him and his son. Then one of the officers informed them they were ready to leave. Draco turned around to call Scorpius, and froze.

She stood before him, a vision of turquoise and white, her hair almost, but not quite tamed by silk ribbons that contrasted beautifully with her dark curls.

"Hermione."

Her name fell from his lips before he could stop himself and his hand reached for her, touched her arm as if to make sure he wasn't dreaming. No, she was there, solid, real, smiling a little nervously. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying, but they gleamed with an earthly happiness. He drew in a sharp breath and was assaulted by the scent of lavender, of her. He couldn't move his hand away from her arm, almost afraid she would disappear if he let go of her. He'd forgotten all about the people around him, Theodosius and Scorpius, the _centurio_ of the Concordia and his men. There was only her. But she wasn't supposed to be here.

"What are you doing here?" It seemed a silly question, and his tone was harsher than it should have been.

She flinched and took a step back, but then straightened and lifted her chin defiantly. She looked even fiercer, even more herself than he ever remembered her. "I was looking for passage to Roma. I believe this ship is leaving tonight?"

Draco shook his head, disbelievingly. He stepped closer to her and reached out to cup her cheek, still unable to look away from the eyes he never thought he'd see again. "What are you doing, Hermione? Theodosius -"

"Set me free," she interrupted. " _Liberata_. Hermione Eburoniana once more." She made a comical little courtesy. Then her face grew serious. "I don't want you to leave me behind. I understand I can't come with you as your slave, but I am no longer a slave. I want... You. I want you in my life, and Scorpius too. Don't send me away again, Draco. Take me with you."

It was only then that Draco noticed Scorpius, who had wrapped his arms around Hermione's legs and didn't seem to have any intention of letting go. Theodosius stood a few steps away from them, pretending badly not to listen to their conversation.

"Can she come with us, father, please? Bring her to Roma? Please? I want Hermione to come, too. Father, please?" Scorpius' muffled voice rose from the folds of Hermione's stola.

"I can't… How…" Draco cut himself off. He wanted nothing more than to take Hermione in his arms and never let her go, just like Scorpius. But he couldn't. In Roma, his father would be waiting. He licked his lips, then finally looked away from her face and tried to take Scorpius' hand. "Scorpius, she can't come with us. It's not proper." He ignored the pang in his heart when he saw Hermione's face fall from the corner of his eye. "Come, Scorpius, we must board. Say goodbye now."

But Scorpius tightened his arms around Hermione's legs, almost causing her to stumble and fall, and shook his head vigorously. Hermione had to reach out and clasp his shoulder for support. Her touch set his whole body on fire and he looked up at her, getting caught in her amber gaze again. He remembered the bracelet that he had bought so long ago but never given her. He still had it. Tertius had packed it with his personal belongings. He couldn't look away. The look in her eyes changed from pleading to confident. She opened her mouth to speak, but someone else was quicker.

"Draco Malfidus, you are a fool." Theodosius' voice startled them all. "A stubborn fool. _Asinus._ Why are you trying to martyr yourself? Just take her as your wife, if she will have you, and be done with it. Scorpius will have the mother he wants, you will have the woman you want, and she will have the family she wants. Why make everyone unhappy? Is it pride? Is it foolishness? What excuse do you have?"

He saw her eyes light up at the idea and knew she wouldn't refuse him if he asked. But…

"I can't take a wife without my father's permission, you know that, Theodosius. And he won't permit me to marry you." He said the last more quietly, just to her, as if they were the only two people in the world.

He expected her to crumble at the statement, to see the light in her eyes flicker and die, but she only seemed to burn brighter in the setting sun. Her lips pursed together and she squeezed his shoulder. "I'm prepared to fight for you, Draco Malfidus."

Theodosius sighed. "You really are an idiot. The Emperor can sanction the match in c _onfarreatio_ and your father will not defy him. You're on his good side for augmenting the tax income from the Provincia, remember? Go see him straight off the ship and you will be fine." Then he muttered, more to himself than to his friend, "I honestly don't know how you survived in politics for so long. One woman and you lose your knack. You're a sap, Draco."

Draco heard him and shot him an annoyed glance, then looked back at Hermione. He knew this was the precipice. This was the start or the end. This moment in time would decide the course of the rest of his life. He looked at her, taking in every detail, her amber eyes swirling with warmth and sunlight, the light dusting of freckles on her nose, the thin white lines of tiny scars he'd never noticed before, the colour that was slowly rising in her cheeks, her plump, pink lips, the line of her eyebrows and the curls that fell alongside her face.

"I made my choice, Draco," she said softly. "What is yours?"

Draco swallowed. It was madness. It was absolute madness. But how could he resist? Hermione, by his side. Hermione, in his arms. Hermione, laughing and playing with Scorpius. Maybe a child of their own. He took her right hand in his.

" _Ubi_ _tu Gaia, ego Gaius."_ He said the ceremonial words with some trepidation, but when he saw the smile that lighted up her whole face, he knew it was the right decision.

" _Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,"_ she responded, then kissed him full on the mouth. They didn't notice the cheers that rose up from the onlookers, or the way Theodosius exchanged an exasperated glance with Tertius. Draco did feel Scorpius' arms enclosing his legs and pulling him closer to Hermione. He leaned back and looked at Hermione, his wife, then smiled. "Time to board the ship to our new life, _mulier_."

"Indeed it is, _vir._ " She made to walk towards the ship, but then stopped and turned back. She stepped up to Theodosius and embraced him. "Thank you," she murmured in his ear.

Draco bent down to pick up his son, then held out an arm for Hermione. They walked on board together, arm in arm, ready to face the world.

* * *

 _Beta love to hobbit penguin. You're a gem. I love you. Any remaining mistakes my own._

 _This story is now complete.  
Yes, this is where it ends. Yes, I'm sure. No, asking for more isn't going to make me write more. IF I write more about what happens to our favourite couple when they arrive in Rome, I promise I'll let you all know. _

_Thank you to all you lovely readers and reviewers for supporting me and following this story from its first conception through this unexpected journey to a ten-chapter fic._

 _And now I'm FINALLY off to read Refictionista's Sonus ex Venificia because I've been putting it off for WAAAAAYYYY too long. And if you're not reading that one already and you liked this, you should go find it._


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